


I Am A Man On Fire, You A Violent Desire

by ashleyfanfic



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergent, Cersei is gone, Cersie has been removed as queen, Daenerys is Eros, Daenerys is ruling from Dragonstone, F/M, Jealousy, Jon is Psyche, Jonerys Week 2018, Rickon Lives, Robb Stark is King in the North, Smut, The Red Keep is no more, and her dragons, blind smut, bran is still missing, daenerys is controlling six of the seven kingdoms, eros and psyche remix, jon is made a stark, jonerys week 2018 prompt: Passion, robb and jon need daenerys and her armies, she wants the seventh, tons of smut, white walkers are still a problem as is the night king
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-03-28 07:33:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 43,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13899324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashleyfanfic/pseuds/ashleyfanfic
Summary: “I am not a foreign whore out to rule the men of this world with my beauty,” she snapped at her Hand, turning to look at him, and tilted her head. “I want them to respect me because I am what’s best for the people. That is not a difficult concept to grasp.” She took a deep and calming breath, mulling over what Tyrion had said. “But...what you’re saying does have some merit. If I could convince him that I’m a good queen, a good ruler who cares for my people, without him being distracted by my beauty, then that could only help to sway his brother, right?”





	1. The Darkest Fairytale

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song "Dangerous Night" by 30 Seconds to Mars and it works perfectly for this fic.
> 
> First, let me thank FrostBitePanda for betaing this story for me. She's amazeballs! You have no idea.
> 
> Second, a huge thanks to meisie for letting me just ramble to her one day and work out plot for this. I don't know if she was interested, but she humored me.
> 
> Third, I have a thing for remixes. If you look at my Dramione fan fiction posted here, I believe all but one is based off another couple. And this story for Jon and Dany just spoke to me!! Eros(Cupid) and Psyche is my favorite story in all of Greek/Roman mythology. I know everyone likes Persephone/Hades, but Eros and Psyche was always my jam. 
> 
> Fourth, HUGE thanks to justwanderingneverlost for the gorgeous mood board!
> 
> Last, but never least, the lovely tarts, justwanderingneverlost, jaqtkd, meisie, frostbitepanda, sparkles59, and noordinarylines thank you for the never ending support, the stellar conversation, and all the encouraging spanks to get this written! I'm still not done, but I wanted this posted.

  
Her anger simmered beneath her skin, still feeling the sting from overhearing the conversation amongst a few of the ladies that had come to court. They hadn’t realized that the very object of their candid and disgusting conversation had overheard every word. She had, somehow, refrained from throwing them all into the dungeons for treasonous talk, but she knew that it would only feed the nasty rumors about her.  
  
_Foreign seductress._ Her feminine wiles had won her the armies to conquer the country. At least, that was the rumor that had been shared between the ladies gossiping in her halls. Quite the contrary, this rumor only aided her--the more men underestimated her, the better she’d be for it.  
  
On top of this nagging thorn was the man that had been declared King in the North outright refusing to bend the knee. She was close to taking her dragons and burning Winterfell to the ground.  
  
She was broken from her anguished reverie by Tyrion entering the chamber, where she had been staring, unseeing, at the Painted Table before her. Only a few moments longer and Varys was there as well. The latter took a seat in the chair across the painted table from her. “Robb Stark has answered our raven,” she said needlessly as she was certain Varys already knew, meaning Tyrion was just as enlightened.  
  
“Since we’re not currently celebrating with wine, I’ll assume that he refused to concede his kingdom,” her Hand surmised. She handed the scroll over to Tyrion who heaved a sigh and tossed it onto the section of the great map near White Harbor. “I told you that the North would be difficult to take.”  
  
“I can take it with my dragons.”  
  
Varys bristled and looked to Tyrion as he began to speak, “King’s Landing was already destroyed, and yes, I know that much of it was by Wildfire. However, with your dragons in the city, much of the country believes that it was _you_ who destroyed it. Considering how word travels, I have no doubt that the majority of the North believes this to be true. Additionally, they still have rather clear memories of your father burning their Warden to death and your brother running off and raping the man’s daughter. They’ll want to believe the worst.”  
  
Daenerys felt even more incensed. Her heart beat hard in her chest, her breathing labored, and she was close to dashing the Stark direwolves onto the floor. The struggle to rein in her temper was becoming almost unbearable. She was tired, so tired. She had cast down demagogues and trod over entire continents, but she was not well prepared for this fickle fight of words and rumors. The North already saw her as the Mad Queen, the reincarnation of her father.  
  
She wasn’t her family.  
  
She felt a piece of her die watching King’s Landing go up in the green flame. She had even gone with some of the others to try and help people. She brought them food, clothes, and offered them residence at Dragonstone. How could people believe that she was like her father or even as bad as Cersei? The people of Essos-- the slaves at least-- had -realized that she was there to help them.  
  
“What do you suggest?” Daenerys asked, almost sounding defeated even to her own ears.  
  
Tyrion glanced at Varys and then back at her. “A strategic alliance with the North.”  
  
“The _King in the North_ has refused to bend the knee. How would we acquire this alliance?” she bit hotly.Her Hand seemed to ignore her bad temper.  
  
“Marriage.”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “Robb Stark is already married. To a low born, yes, but I don’t take kindly to men setting aside their wives."  
  
“Robb Stark was not who I had in mind. He has a brother.”  
  
She shook her head in annoyance. “Rickon Stark is still a boy.”  
  
Varys spoke up. “Your grace, Robb Stark has legitimized his eldest brother, Jon, now referred to as Jon Stark. My little birds have told me that Jon is a hero of the Battle for Winterfell. He charged the field to rescue his brother Rickon. He was also named Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch but was freed from that vow because his brother took him with him against the Bolton’s. It is known, among the North, that there is hardly a man more honorable than Jon Stark.”  
  
“Your grace, I know Jon Snow...or Stark. I traveled with him to the Wall. He was young then, but if all that Varys has said is true, then it is a good match. He’s no longer a bastard. I think you would find that this could work to your advantage. This will easily win the Starks over. Robb obviously trusts his brother. And if Jon comes to trust you in turn well...turn his head towards you as only a wife can do to her husband. He can then relay to his brother how you are a just and good Queen.”  
  
She took a deep breath and looked at Tyrion, frustration unfolding in her words as she spoke, “You would have me do all the foul things all those foul people already think I am guilty of? Winning kingdoms with my face and teats instead of with everything else?.”  
  
Tyrion clearly didn’t understand her tone, because he continued on, clearly hoping to sway her. “Men see what they want to see, Your Grace. "  
  
“I am not a foreign whore out to rule the men of this world with my beauty,” she snapped at her Hand, turning to look at him, and tilted her head. “I want them to respect me because I am what’s best for the people. That is not a difficult concept to grasp.” She took a deep and calming breath, mulling over what Tyrion had said. “But...what you’re saying does have some merit. If I could convince him that I’m a good queen, a good ruler who cares for my people, without him being distracted by my beauty, then that could only help to sway his brother, right?”  
  
Varys spoke then, his eyes narrowed in thought. “Are you planning to remove his eyes, Your Grace?”  
  
Daenerys turned to the large open window and looked out at the ocean. “When I was in Essos, I heard that there was a substance that could take away a person’s sight.”  
  
She assumed by their silence that Tyrion and Varys were concerned. It was Tyrion that finally spoke, “You would leave him blind simply to prove a point?”  
  
She turned to glare at Tyrion. “Of course not. It’s a... timed process where so much daylight passes before the effects wear away.”  
  
“But what does this really prove?” Tyrion asked, his skeptical nature coming through.  
  
She took a deep breath. “That I am what’s best for _all_ people, even those in the North. Send the raven to Robb Stark asking for his brother. And Varys,” she said as she turned her attention to the Spider, “find where we can get this substance and get barrels of it.”  
  
“Barrels, your grace?” Varys asked and even Tyrion looked confused by the request.  
  
“I don’t know how long this will take. We’ll need to be prepared.”  
  


* * *

  
  
“You haven’t eaten since you received that scroll.”  
  
Robb took a deep breath and tapped the rolled up parchment against the desk. “Jon and I were able to take back Winterfell. Our victory is well known, and now it seems that we’ve attracted the attention of a potential ally.” He knew that worry was etched upon his face from the concern clearly displayed upon hers.  
  
“Who is that from?” Talisa questioned as Robb looked up at her and showed her the sigil of the three-headed dragon. “House Targaryen?” Talisa asked.  
  
Robb shook his head. “Daenerys Targaryen is the last one, now calling herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms with the death of Cersei.” He hand rubbed over his chin in thought. “She’s looking for an alliance by marriage.”  
  
Talisa stood up straighter and he could see the familiar fire within her eyes that had drawn him to her in the first place. He inwardly smiled at the thought that his wife would be so territorial over him. “With you?”  
  
He gave her a soft smile and took her hand. “No. One of my brothers.”  
  
Talisa tilted her head, clearly lost in thought for a moment. “Bran is still missing and Rickon is little more than a child.”  
  
“You forget, my love, that there is a different solution,” Robb said as the door to his study opened and Jon entered, his hand on the pommel of his sword.  
  
It was them,  _ together _ , that had retaken the North, had rid it of Ramsay and Roose Bolton, had reclaimed their home.  
  
His brother had already given so much to save the people of the North, his own life, even. He’d brought nothing but good and glory to their house, but even now his work was not done. Robb nodded to Talisa to leave them and as she walked past Jon, Robb could see the frown on her face as she patted his shoulder. She gave Robb a lingering look, obviously displeased with what was to be asked of the man who helped her husband take his throne back.  
  
She gave Jon a wan smile before she closed the door behind her. “I hate it when she looks at me like that.,” Jon said with a sigh. “It usually means you’re going to give me bad news.”

Robb gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “How are the preparations coming along? Anyone figure out you put the Wildlings in Greyguard?”  
  
Jon shook his head and tilted his head at his brother, his expression grave. “No. But I’m sure once the commanders at the Wall find out they’ll want a fight. They always do.”  
  
Robb took a deep breath and stood to look out of the window at the grounds below. “I find myself in a strange predicament, Jon.” He turned his attention back to his brother and handed him the parchment. As Jon read it, Robb leaned back in his chair, having memorized the scroll that had troubled him for most of the day.  
  
__ I, Tyrion Lannister, Hand Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen to the Seven Kingdoms, Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains, requests an alliance through marriage with House Stark. House Targaryen realizes that the head of House Stark is already married and expecting. The Queen will accept a legitimate substitute for the Warden of the North.  
  
“Only acknowledging you as Warden of the North, I see.” Jon looked at Robb wearily. “They know you made me a Stark.”  
  
“Obviously,” he said as he heaved a sigh. “I can’t very well send Rickon.”  
  
“You’re considering this? This alliance?”  
  
He nodded. “Three dragons, Jon. You’ll be at her side, able to show her the truth...”  
  
“I’ll be her consort, not her King. What sway do you think I would hold?”  
  
Robb had to remember that a good portion of Jon’s life had been spent at the Wall. His brother, for all his experience fighting, even after his affair with his Wildling girl, was still rather naive when it came to the influence that passed between a man and woman when laying abed together.  “You’ll have her ear when no one else does. A silent audience, Jon. Tell her what you’ve seen. Tell her of the horrors at Hardhome. She has to know because this fight will eventually come for her as well. It’s not something that can be ignored.”  
  
“When will I have this silent audience?” Jon’s frustration flowed through his words. Robb understood, but he needed to make Jon understand. So, without saying anything, he leveled a knowing look at Jon who seemed to catch his meaning and shifted in his chair.  
  
“I legitimized you because it was the right thing to do for you, as my brother. But now, they  _ expect _ it to be you-- at least Tyrion does. You’re their only option to make a marriage alliance with our house as we are technically in open rebellion, and the best way to solve that problem is by marriage. You know that as well as I do, Jon. ” Robb stopped, reining in his rising ire with a sigh.    
  
“This raven was just a formality... giving me an illusion of choice,” Robb went on. “They know just as well as I do that you are the only suitable choice.” He leaned forward and rested his hands on the desk, folded in front of him. He was torn about what he was asking of his brother. He didn’t want to send Jon away, but they had a true fight coming for them, and an alliance with the Targaryen queen could only help them. He nearly felt sick about it. “There’s nothing saying you have to marry her. Go South, see what her offer is, and if you don’t like it then you can return here and we’ll work up another plan. But you the only real opportunity to convince her of the army of the dead. You have to try. We need her army. We need her dragons. You know that...what we have will not work.”  
  
Jon was silent for a moment before he looked at the floor. “It has been scarcely a year since...  _ she _ died and now you’re asking me to leave the home we took back together... to marry the daughter of a man who killed our Uncle and Grandfather? The  _ sister _ of the man who kidnapped and raped our aunt?”  
  
Robb huffed out a breath, feeling frustration and anger warring within him. He was troubled by the rumors from the South of how she took King’s Landing and blew up Flea Bottom as she did. The poorest of the country had suffered enough under Cersei, but to have them then endure such a despicable act gave him much concern for sending Jon to her. The truth was, Jon was such a good and honorable person that he had faith that his brother could make her see reason, or stop her before she did something equally horrible. He’d even heard that she killed the men who displeased her in bed, which is what happened to her first and second husband, though, no one with any sort of viable information had verified that any of it happened the way it was told.    
  
He ran a resigned hand through his hair, slumping on his desk defeatedly, no other option left to him with the dead at their door and a possibly vengeful queen to their backs.  “I’m asking you to at  __ least meet with her. I’ll send back in my letter that you should be allowed to return if you find the match to not be to your liking. Tyrion, at least, should understand that no one should be forced into a marriage.”

  
  



	2. Wicked Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon meets Daenerys's counsel and the woman herself...sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't know where the title of this chapter comes from I can't help you because how do you not know?
> 
> Huge thanks to FrostBitePanda for the beta job she did on this chapter. You guys have no idea how much better it is made because of her. She's a godsend.
> 
> I was debating on when to post this, but this post is for the lovely meisie!

 

“Welcome to Dragonstone, Jon Snow. Or should I call you Lord Stark?” Tyrion said as Jon entered. His eyes flicked up to the empty throne at Tyrion’s back. 

 

“That depends on what sort of tricks you have up your sleeves, Lord Hand,” Jon began, suspiciously. “Is the Queen above meeting her future husband in person or does she send you to handle all unpleasant matters?”

 

Tyrion gave him a smile and then extended his hand for Jon to shake, which he did. “Lord Stark, then.” 

 

Tyrion turned to glance at the strangers gathered behind him. “Ah, I’ll introduce you. Missandei of Naath, the Queen’s most trusted advisor. This finely robed spider is Varys. The dark-armored gentleman is Daario Naharis, leader of the Second Sons, one of the many armies belonging to Her Grace. Ser Jorah Mormont, who is from your neck of the woods. And finally, the commander of the Unsullied, Grey Worm.”

 

Jon hadn’t taken his eyes from Jorah. “I served under your father at Castle Black. He was a good man.”

 

Jorah’s eyes seemed to harden, but he managed a tight-lipped smile as he nodded. Tyrion cleared his throat and Jon looked back at him as the man smiled good-naturedly. “Small world, isn’t it?” He took a deep breath. “However, we have a few matters we must discuss before you are to be wed to our queen.”

 

“I’ve yet to decide if that marriage will take place, and given her absence, I have to wonder what sort of first impression she aims to make.” Jon narrowed his eyes. “I take it you plan to explain that?”

 

Tyrion’s expression did not waver. “Yes. That specifically. What have you heard about our Queen?”

 

Jon shook his head and his hand found its way to the pommel of Longclaw, feeling better with the strength of it in his fingers. “Why would I answer that question with the commanders of her armies in here to kill me?”

 

Tyrion gave him a cold, knowing smile. “As suspected. You’ve been fed a great deal of false information, and that is troubling to our queen. She wants to prove to the people of Westeros that she is the only worthy person to rule. She conquered King’s Landing and rid the world of my vicious sister. She looked to unite all the kingdoms under her rule. To help people. However, there is one impediment to doing so.”

 

“If you say _my brother_ then you’re right, that is an impediment and not one I’m looking to help remove.” He bit his tongue against any other thoughts he might have on the subject. Firstly, how the Queen had no rights to the North and if she decided to take it by force, she would find the people even more hostile towards her than they already were. Surely, Tyrion knew this.

 

Tyrion shook his head. “I don’t believe I said anything about killing your brother. Killing the King in the North would not be...productive. As I said, our Queen wants to show Westeros that she is the leader they can look to for help. She wants everyone united. That is why you are here.”

 

“Could we perhaps get to the point of this charade, my Lord,” Jon said, losing his patience.

 

“You see, our Queen has been accused of gaining her armies with her beauty. This is not the truth but is a firm belief of the lords and ladies of this land. It is her beauty that is seen as her greatest asset.”

 

“I believe the dragons help,” Jon added darkly.

 

Tyrion nodded. “How do you think she gained those dragons?”

 

He realized that he didn’t know how she had acquired dragons. They’d been gone for hundreds of years and yet, she had three large dragons. Jon shook his head. “Right. So, you’re here to warn me that her beauty might cause me to become some blathering fool? Is this your point?”

 

He looked around the room, sensing there was more to all of this than had been said. Tyrion bounced on the balls of his feet as he responded to Jon, “She wishes for you not to see her until she chooses for you to do so.”

 

Jon looked at the others gathered around in the room, realizing that none of them appeared to react as if it was a joke. How was he to marry someone he wasn’t allowed to see? “What is her solution, then? We marry and never inhabit the same space?”

 

Tyrion furrowed his brow and shook his head. “No, of course not. You’ll spend time together, you just won’t be allowed to see her.” Tyrion nodded at one of the maids waiting beside the door and she handed a vial to Jon and he took it from her apprehensively. “What you hold in your hand is a substance from Essos that will render the drinker blind for roughly half a day.”

 

Jon’s eyes hardened. “You’re mad if you think I’ll drink this.”

 

“It is the only way this marriage happens. Our Queen is adamant about one person in this world being able to judge her for her ability to be a fair and just ruler. Not simply a pretty face...”

 

Jon rolled his eyes. “This is ridiculous. Is this a ruse you’re playing on me? I’m not as naive as I used to be, Lord Hand.”

 

Tyrion took a deep breath, remaining calm. “No, I don’t believe you are. We’ve heard a great deal about you. You were always the best match for her, not only because of your name but because you might understand what it means to have people judge you for something that is out of your control.”

 

Jon looked at the white fluid in the vial. “I want to hear this from her.”

 

Tyrion’s breath hitched at this. Jon watched as Missandei’s eyes glanced to the right tellingly. He followed her gaze, but all he saw was a wall-- that didn’t mean she wasn’t hiding behind it, listening to everything that was being said. 

 

Her Hand looked at Missandei and gave her a nod. She walked away and disappeared around the corner. As they waited, Jon surveyed the men remaining in the room. Jorah kept his eyes determinedly elsewhere, looking tense and uncomfortable. The one in the dark armor leaned an easy palm against the pommel of one of his swords, eyes narrowed as he peered at him with no small amount of disdain. 

 

Missandei returned quickly. “The queen has agreed to your request, Lord Stark. Drink down the liquid and you will have a private audience with her. But you will give your sword to Grey Worm. It will be returned to you after you speak.”

 

Jon took a deep breath, half expecting her to deny his request, both relieved and terrified that she had accepted. Relieved because if he did decline, it would be said that he’d at least heard her out and terrified because the prospect of losing both his sight and his sword left him helpless and at her mercy. At this point, the premise was so preposterous he wanted to see it through simply out of some rote, morbid curiosity. He uncorked the vial. “How much?”

 

“The whole vial,” Missandei answered. “But understand, you’ll not be able to see again until well into this evening.”

 

Jon nodded taking a deep breath to steady himself. He closed his eyes, screwing his courage firmly into place before taking down the foul liquid. It reminded him of ash and possibly what a dead carcass left out in the sun would taste. He looked at his hand, watching as the figure grew lighter and lighter until he was engulfed by bright white color. There were no longer windows or people to gaze upon. Instead, it was as if he had been looking into the sun. 

 

“Well, that’s an interesting tell,” Tyrion said, his voice ringing with amusement.

 

“What’s that?” Jon asked, suddenly holding his arms out as if he were on the rocking deck of a ship.

 

“It turns your eyes bright white. There’s no tricking us or the queen now,” he answered, his tone too happy for Jon’s liking. 

 

The sound of footfalls could be heard coming across the floor of the throne room, growing closer to the group. Jon heard the shuffling of the others as they left the room and heard the heavy doors close behind him. He couldn’t place the scent that wafted into his nose,  something decidedly feminine, mixed with something else heated and hazy that made him think of vaguely of fire .  _ Dragons _ , he thought to himself.

 

“Hello, Jon Stark.”

 

“Daenerys Targaryen. I’d kiss your hand but I don’t actually know where you are,” he offered but mostly did it to gauge her reaction to him. The click of her boots on the stone floor echoed in the room, but then so did her breathing. He could hear each little puff as she had grown closer. He nearly startled as she took his hand and he brought it up to his mouth, finding her skin extremely warm beneath his lips, feeling the brush of her skin stir his whiskers. The urge to induce all of his senses, the last one being taste, was strong. He released her hand and felt the space in front of him clear a bit as she had taken a step back.

 

He felt uneasy on his feet, still trying to adjust to the loss of his sight. It occurred to him that he had put himself in a very dangerous situation with the sworn enemy of his house. He was without his sword, without his sight, in front of the Mad King’s daughter. A woman renowned for her ruthlessness and her ability to seduce a man out of his mind. He began chastising himself as a fool.

 

However, when she spoke again, her voice was pleasant, “Thank you for at agreeing to keep an open mind.”

 

“I don’t know that I agreed to that,” He returned somewhat sharply. “I simply wanted to hear the explanation from the source. Tales from second hand can often times get jumbled.”

 

He heard her move slowly around him and he tried not to feel like a prize horse being examined at auction. “I’m sure you’ve heard numerous tales about me. A foreign whore who seduces men into doing my bidding. Conquering armies and countries with my beauty. Correct?”

 

She was just to his left and he turned his head as a means of learning more. Wanting another chance to smell her, feel the heat of her skin, hear her breathing, but also the danger that she represented. She was a potential threat to the North and his people, but a direct threat to his person.  It caused his own heart to race and the familiar stirrings of arousal. That, perhaps, scared Jon more than the physical danger. “Something like that, yes.”

 

He heard her exhale a frustrated breath as she came to stand in front of him again. “As I presumed,” she began tiredly, “I have fought my entire life to survive, and so have a natural affinity for those who struggle in their lives. Everyone has a different plight, but I empathize with those kept under the boot of others. In Essos, I fought to see that slaves were freed, that men and women would never again know the lash or the collar. No one would be bought or sold in my cities.”

 

“And in King’s Landing?”

 

She took a moment before she answered, but he could tell by the quick intake of breath he’d struck a nerve with the seemingly cool queen.  “That...was necessary...and unfortunate,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. “You helped your brother take back Winterfell. How many men did you kill?”

 

He paused, rocked by the question.  “Thousands.”

 

“A terrible affair. Someone took your home from your family and you took it back.” She allowed that to hang in the air, and Jon took her meaning all too easily. She believed she had done the same thing with King’s Landing that he and Robb had done with Winterfell. “The men responsible for it being taken were killed for their treachery. That’s what happened in King’s Landing, and  _ our enemies _ paid the price. As unsettling as that is to some, war is never a pretty affair. We all want to protect people and we can only do that from a position of strength.” She paused and the words weighed heavily on him, “Sometimes, strength is terrible.”

 

He noted what sounded like sadness or remorse in her voice. The rumors about her might have been exaggerated, but he’d been operating on the concept that she was ruthless like her father. It threw him a bit that he agreed with her. She continued speaking when he didn’t reply, “What are your thoughts on what I’ve said about the nature of war?”

 

Jon lowered his head a bit, his brow furrowed as he contemplated his thoughts. “I’m good at fighting, but I hate it. Hate every second of it. But I’d fight for my family, my country, every day if I need to do so.” He paused. “You’re right, though. We do want to help people. Having power is the only way to do that and to take that power, you have to fight for it. So, on that, we agree.”

 

“War is a nasty piece of business. I wish I could have gone about it all differently, but Cersei would never have relinquished the throne and they would have continued to suffer under her.” She shifted in front of him and he straightened in response to her, apprehension coursing through his veins. “To allow her to continue to rule would have been a more gruesome crime than anything else I could be accused of.” He heard her shift her weight from one foot to the other. He wondered if she was fidgeting or was her back ramrod straight? “I do not like killing. I don’t. Unfortunately, that’s a byproduct of war, one I can’t escape.”

 

Jon tilted his head, noting that there  _ was _ sadness in her voice. He decided to extend an olive branch. “When I was a man of man of the Night’s Watch, the Wildlings attacked the wall. I had spent time with them before, to earn their trust, to learn their plans. I thought they were savages before. But I realized they were just people trying to live. I still fought against them when they attacked. But, I didn’t want them to die.”

 

“Savages. You’ve seen the Dothraki.”

 

He nodded. “They were hard to miss,” he quipped.

 

“I thought they were savages, too. And though they are rougher than a lot of people, they’re still people trying to live. But for a long time, even after I was married to Khal Drogo, I was convinced they were a horrible people.” He could almost hear the pride in her voice. He knew the only way he would get more information would be to stay and speak with her more. To agree with this insane idea. But as she spoke, he realized he did want to know more. “I learned a lot from them. No one would respect me as a queen until I began believing I was one. To them I’m  _ Khaleesi _ .” She fell silent and he heard the rustling of fabric and caught a whiff of that scent again. It made him a bit dizzy. “Your brother requested that if you didn’t agree to the marriage that I should allow you to return, and I agreed to that. I suppose the question is what do you think of a possible marriage between us, now?”

 

“What sort of marriage could be had if I can’t see you?”

 

“One built on trust. You’ll have to trust me not to hurt you and I’ll have to trust you not to hurt me. It’s not an easy concept, trusting a stranger.” He shuffled his weight, his anxiety at his vulnerable position properly seizing him now. Would he always be this hyper-aware of her? The brine of olives on her fingers from her breakfast, the scrape of her heel on the stone of the floor, the sound of her breath kicking up as she grew impatient with him. “We will dine together, talk together... do the things that husbands and wives are meant to do.”

 

His brow crinkled in frustration. “And you mean to leave me blind through all of that? For what purpose?”

 

“I want you to know me as a queen and as your wife. I want you to  _ see  _ who I am without seeing what I look like. I don’t want your opinion of me to be tarnished by that. Eventually, when I feel it’s the right moment, I will allow you to see me.”

 

“And how long would that take?” he protested. “How long do you foresee this being our arrangement?” 

 

She sighed and he could sense her take a step towards him. He was assaulted by the scent of her again and could even feel the heat of her body close enough to him that he questioned if that was simply how warm she was or if he was simply attuned to her nearness. She ignored his question and asked one of her own, “Why did you agree to come to Dragonstone? Everything Tyrion has told me about you and your family, the history of our families, I was skeptical that you or your brother would agree to the match.”

 

Jon pursed his lips as he thought about her question, how best to answer it. He dealt in honesty almost exclusively. Lying never helped a situation, especially one as precarious as this. “My brother and I discussed it and...realistically, you may be our only hope. And...I was curious.”

 

“Oh?” she asked and he could hear the interest in her voice. “How’s that?”

 

“You said we have to trust one another, correct?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He rubbed his fingers together, debating on whether to level with her. But if she could hold information back, he could keep his real intentions a secret to her until he felt the time was right. It was petty. “I may come to tell you if I come to trust you as you will meh.”

 

“That’s fair,” she said after a moment. “Your brother said that I was to let you return home if you decide not to go through with this marriage. I’m curious as to your thoughts.”

 

“I’m baffled how this could possibly work if I’m to be your husband, but I’m not allowed to see you. Am I to be blind all the time on the chance that I might possibly run into you in the castle?”

 

“We can arrange it so you take the potion at a certain time of day, and that’s when I’ll join you for the evening. Though, perhaps there are a few days that you could join me in court.”

 

“You would want that and not a consort?” He couldn’t stop himself from saying this as she had shocked him with the information that he would be more than just a bed warmer.

 

“I can have a consort, my Lord, but I have little use for one. I want a husband. And if I’m to convince you that I’m a queen worthy of the title, you need to bear witness, in a manner of speaking, to my actions, correct?”

 

Jon nodded, still a bit surprised. “Yes.”

 

“I simply need a promise from you, a vow, that you will not trick and deceive and aim to catch a glimpse of me before I allow it,” her tone was grave.

 

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Jon began skeptically, “but why would you trust a vow from me? A man that you have willfully blinded in order to build a trust you do not yet feel?”

 

“I've been informed by several of my advisors that you could perhaps be the most honorable man in the entirety of Westeros.” She paused, “However, I have asked Grey Worm to give you the lay of the castle and even the city that is housed within Dragonstone. You and I both know trust is earned, not to be freely given. I am asking for a lot. I know this.”

 

“Quite a bit,” he repeated. 

 

“What do you think, Lord Stark?”

 

“Jon,” he corrected, deciding he might as well jump in head-first, nothing else to it.

 

She was quiet for the briefest moment. “Jon,” she repeated softly. He felt a bolt of heat shoot through his belly at hearing his name from her lips.  “What do you think, Jon? Do you agree to these terms for marriage?”

 

He still thought this entire idea was mad. He thought he understood the reasoning, but that did not mean he had to agree to it. He knew that the North needed her help, and the only real way to get her help was to convince her as a man she trusted. He knew the threat that was coming to the North. He thought of his brothers, Robb and Rickon, his sister, Sansa. Their people who would lose their lives if the dead should make it over the wall, and he had no doubt that they would. It was with this thought that he gave her a nod. “I do, Your Grace.”

 

“Daenerys.”

 

He gave her the first smile he could muster since he’d stepped on the island. “Daenerys.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, how dare any of you think I would make Jon blind without it being HIS choice? Really? I'm insulted. 
> 
> Also, please don't ask about Ghost. There will be an explanation later, but the only response you will get from me about it at this point is "Dogs don't fare well on boats."
> 
> A short summary of Eros/Psyche from mythology. Psyche was beautiful and some said even more so than Aphrodite, which the Goddess of love took offense to. She sent Eros to strike Psyche with an arrow to make her fall in love with the ugliest man to shame her. Instead, Eros pricks himself with his own arrow and falls in love with her instantly. He covertly asks for her hand and pulls her to his island where he tells her she can never see him. She falls in love with him. Her sisters come to visit and they're jealous of all that she has and poison her to take a glimpse of him. She does so while he's sleeping and burns him with wax from the candle and he flees. Psyche is despondent and goes to Aphrodite asking for her help. She puts her on some really horrible tasks, but she manages to complete them anyway. She has to go and ask a favor of Persephone who is in Hades and is told not to open the box, but her curiosity gets the better of her and she dies. Eros goes looking for her and finds her and she's brought back to life and made a goddess. 
> 
> That's the cliffy-cliff notes version.


	3. My Lover's Got Humor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Daenerys share a meal together and get to know one another in a lot of ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone should come to this alter. This one right here and offer their adulation to meisie for keeping me in the smut line and to FrostbitePanda for ripping it to shreds. The women of our tarts group is an outstanding class of writers and I feel so privileged to have been able to bounce ideas off of you and have you critique my writing. It’s better because of you guys. 
> 
> The title for this chapter comes from the song “Take Me To Church” by Hozier. That song brought a lot of inspiration for this chapter.
> 
> Those of you who take issue with Jon being blind after they’re married will not like the rest of this fic, so if that bothers you, feel free to stop reading now.

 

 

 

Jon could feel the breeze from the sea waft into the room. He had been led to this room by an attendant, who helped him change clothes. His boots, hauberk, and heavy jerkin had been removed, taken to who knew where. He was left only in his light under tunic and leathers. They even took his stockings.

 

They had been married only an hour before by a septon.

 

He stood before the fireplace, the warmth radiating on the skin of his chest contrasting with the cold breeze from the window blowing against his back. A door to his left opened and closed.

 

He wasn’t sure how he knew it was her-- he _wanted_ to believe that it was instinct,  not that he was already becoming drawn to her scent. “You look much more relaxed,” she said, closer than he expected. She must have removed her usual boots, for he had not heard her cross the room. He realized she had removed her boots and was wearing some sort of slippers.

 

“It’s been a long day,” he replied. “So much formality.”

 

“You married a queen,” she said, amusement in her tone. “You will have to get used to formality, I’m afraid.”

 

The heavy truth of her words hung around his neck as he realized that in the period of a few hours he was now married and had elected to be blind to help her prove a point. The ridiculousness of it was enough to nearly make him laugh... if it wasn’t all true. Now, the idea of attending court, the frills and ceremonies, all of which he detested, were to become part of his life, and he hadn’t given it much consideration, even during his weeks of travel. Laid in front of him now, he wondered exactly what he had gotten himself into.   “If I must.”

 

“Have you eaten?”

 

He shook his head. “I can smell the food, but I’m not sure where the furniture is. Don’t want a bruised shin or broken toe.”

 

She took him by the hand and the heat glowed from her skin.  His fingers brushed against her skirt. She must have changed outfits as well-- the thick, plush material he remembered under his hand as they had exchanged a chaste kiss at their wedding now something entirely different--gauzy and light. He pondered, given the light fabric, what, exactly, she was wearing,  if there was anything under it. It seemed to swish as she moved. “We will have dinner and get to know one another.”

 

“With Lord Varys in your council, is there anything you don’t know about me?”

 

She chuckled as she helped guide him to sit in a chair. She took his hands in hers and directed them to the assortment on the table. His fingers brushed over the smooth skin of grapes, the warm grease of some sort of roast, and the rough heel of bread. He heard the unmistakable sound of a goblet being filled and felt cool glass being pressed into his hand. He lifted it to his nose. Dornish red, he gathered. “There are some things that not even my master of whispers is able to learn, Jon. You remain quite an elusive subject.” He heard her sit beside him at the table and then the scrape of a knife, the abrading of the bread, and thunk of a plate placed in front of him.

 

He tried to distract himself from the feel of her beside him and the soft melody of her voice, but he nearly knocked his goblet over, missing his plate entirely as he attempted to go for the bread. He heard the creak of her chair as she stood, certain she was appalled by his table manners.

 

“Move your chair back a bit.” He did as she asked and he felt her weight settle across his lap.

 

His mouth went dry, the heat of her nearly scalding. She teetered a bit to keep her balance and his hand came up to her back as a steadying force.

 

The fabric of her gown was impossibly soft, feeling more plush than any he’d ever touched. His fingers flexed, afraid of the state of his hands, that he might dirty it. His nose was filled with the scent of her. His face turned towards it, his mind already drunk with it.

 

He heard her small breath as the scruff of his beard barely grazed her neck. “Open your mouth, Jon,” she whispered. He felt something press against his lips and flicked out his tongue to taste something sweet and took a bite. As the fruit exploded onto his tongue it was removed from his lips and something else pressed against his mouth— warm instead of chilled, no sugary sweetness either. Only the rasp of skin, the scent of female, the heat of a curious tongue.

 

She backed away almost as quickly as she had come and his hand tightened on her hip. “What was that?”

 

“Mango,” she answered.

 

He smirked a bit, realizing she was playing coy, deliberately avoiding his question. “It’s sweet.” He was abysmal compared to her, but two could play that game.

 

“Do you like it?”

 

“Very much,” he replied, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip to catch more of the flavor left behind “I’ll take more,” he replied and heard her breath hitch. Her weight shifted but what pressed against his lips was not mango, but something savory, drenched in a rich gravy...roasted boar. She smeared her thumb against his bottom lip, the sauce lingering. He caught her wrist before she could pull away fully and brought her thumb into his mouth. She held her breath as his teeth scraped gently against her skin. “Delicious,” he murmured when he released her wrist.

 

She shifted higher on his lap and he stilled her. He knew that hiding his erection was not possible. He was not able to see her, and she was still so capable of seducing him.

 

“Tell me of the North, Jon.” Her tone was curious and her request caught him off guard. She continued, and he felt that she was genuinely interested, not simply making small talk, “All I know is that it’s cold and home to harsh men who don’t believe in bending the knee,” she said as she placed the goblet of wine in his hand.

 

The wine was sweeter than he was used to, but he found it to be a great improvement on the bitter ales from the Night’s Watch or the sour goat’s milk that Tormund always swore was better than the ‘southron piss’. He felt another bite being offered to him and he had to wonder if this was how most of his evening meals would play out. Part of him hoped not, hating to depend on anyone for anything. But another part of him, the part that had a soft, warm woman in his lap feeding him certainly hoped so.

 

“The North is made up of a very proud people. They’re fiercely loyal.”

 

She chuckled and brought yet another bite to his mouth. Mango. “Is that a warning?”

 

He smirked. “Do you take it as one?”

 

“Hard to say. Do you view me as a foreign whore here to conquer your lands and people?”

 

“Foreign whore? No.”

 

“But you do see me as a conqueror?”

 

He nodded and found the table to place the goblet on it, leaned forward and pressed against her, the heat of her body seeming to pull him forward. “You took all the kingdoms you meant to take. Except the North.”

 

“The largest of the Kingdoms,” she said softly. “Before your brother was named _king_ , the last had been Torrhen Stark who bent the knee to my ancestor Aegon Targaryen. He also had a large army and three dragons at his disposal.”

 

“Is _that_ a warning?”

 

He felt the puff of her breath on his face as her thumb traced over his jaw. “ _Do you take it as one_?” He was silent as she brought another bite to his lips. She took his goblet from the table, his fingers tightened on her hip to hold her steady, and he heard the wine swish within as she took a gulp. She was drinking from his cup. She was already so comfortable with him that it put him a bit on edge. “Come, tell me more,” she said as she put the goblet back in his hand. “What of your family? What was it like growing up in Winterfell?”

 

He wasn’t sure what expression passed over his face but he felt her go still, her hand on his, her voice soft and he could tell that she was looking at him as she spoke, “I’ll tell  you of the hell I went through if you tell me of yours.”

 

Jon shook his head. “I suppose there aren’t many bastards that can say they grew up in the keep of a great house. I was raised and taught alongside Robb. I knew from an early age that I wasn’t his _actual_ brother. His mother made that abundantly clear.” He paused lost in the past. “I had a good relationship with Sansa... until she was old enough to understand what I was. What I meant to her mother. Arya, my youngest sister, was feisty, funny, and the opposite of Sansa. She made me laugh quite often and wanted to ride horses with Robb and I rather than do needlework with her sister.” He paused, as pain and regret built in his chest as he thought about Arya and the last time he’d seen her. “She never wanted to be a lady like Sansa. She wanted to be a knight, and perhaps I encouraged her too much. Before I left Winterfell, I had a sword made for her. A small, skinny blade that she named _Needle_.”  He smiled as he thought back on the skinny little girl with wide grey eyes and a spirit that could never be broken. “Bran climbed everything... until his fall. He hadn’t woken up when I left for the Wall. And before we fought Ramsay, I hadn’t seen Rickon since he was a small boy.” She adjusted on his lap a bit and he squeezed her hip a bit tighter to keep her steady.

 

Jon heard the glug of his goblet being refilled, the flagon being returned to the table, felt the shift of her legs as she reached over.Her voice was soft when she spoke. “You said it was made clear that you weren’t Robb’s _actual_ brother... Was his mother cruel to you?”

 

“I suppose that depends on your definition of cruel.”

 

“Did she abuse you?” she asked, something almost protective hanging in her tone. Her tone said almost too much. He felt shame, which he didn’t expect or fully understand.

 

He shook his head, unable to keep the pain from his voice, “Not physically.”

 

He felt her turn toward him and braced herself with an arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry you had to endure that. It’s never the child’s fault.” Her voice was soft, yet kind.  “What about your relationship with your father? Did he treat you well?”

 

He nodded, his chest aching. “My father was the best man I have ever known.”

 

She took a deep breath, pain laced through her tone. “I’m glad you had him and all of your siblings.”

 

He took a sip of the wine and lowered his head as he prepared himself to ask. “What about you? You said it was hell...”

 

“It was. Viserys and I were on the run from the time I was born,” she said as she brought another bite to his mouth. “My brother, Viserys, and I were sheltered by Targaryen loyalists, but we were never safe for long. Robert Baratheon always discovered where we were... sent assassins to kill us. Nowhere felt like home, nowhere was ever safe.”

 

She paused and he felt her go incredibly still. The pain in her voice wasn’t disguised, it rang true. He felt... horrible, that she had grown up that way, constantly on the run, afraid for your life. It stirred something peculiar within him.  “My brother made a deal with The Grey Khal: me for his army.” She took a shaky breath even as she brought another bite to his lips. He felt the betrayal in her words. “You were lucky your brothers and sister loved you because Viserys did not have that feeling for me...he hurt me. ”

 

Jon tilted his head as he listened to the pain in her voice. “Obviously, you’re not still married to him.”

 

“He died,” she said simply, “Or was murdered, to be more accurate. By a witch who hated the Dothraki. She killed my son while still in my womb. I tried to save her life and she repaid me with pain,” she said gravely.

 

“And your brother?”

 

“Drogo killed him,” the calm, detached manner in which she said this set him on edge.

 

He furrowed his brow, understanding that her brother had betrayed and hurt her, but did she wish him dead? “And why did he do that?”

 

“Viserys was not only cruel but stupid. You don’t walk into Vaes Dothrak with a weapon, and you don’t threaten the Great Khal with cutting out his unborn child and taking his wife. He begged me for his life... but Viserys was a danger to this world. He would have been as cruel as my father.”

 

Jon admired that she saw what her brother was and would become. The pain in her voice let him know that it was still a wound that hurt. He couldn’t imagine being in that position, having to decide between the good of the realm and one of his siblings. She was opening up, telling him about what she suffered and he felt as sort of kinship with her.

 

She had grown quiet and he wanted to move the conversation away from her brother and onto something else. He didn’t want to make her endure any more pain. “And that’s how you ended up with a Dothraki army?”

 

She snorted. “No. They had no loyalty to me. I took the Dothraki as my own years later.”

 

He paused, astounded. “How?”

 

“Men in the North haven’t already made their own assumptions of how I acquired the Unsullied and the Dothraki? I thought it would be part of your lore, your reason to hate me?”

 

He blushed, feeling ashamed that they had made assumptions, had thought very harsh things about her before he had arrived. Now, with her sitting across his lap, feeding him supper, he believed that it was possible they had everything about her wrong. “I admit, I only know that you have both. I assumed when you said you were married to the Khal...”

 

She shook her head, he could feel the shiver of her hair against his wrist. He became very aware of the feel of her pressed against him, having been distracted for the duration.

 

She had last shifted again and he could feel one of her breasts rubbing against his chest, the dip in her waist as his fingers flexed over her hip. He wondered if she intended on consummating their marriage tonight. As it was, he felt like he was being teased to his very limits. Between her soft body pressing against him, the scent of her filling his nose,  the soft timbre of her voice, he found himself hoping by all the Old Gods and the New that she wanted that.

 

Her voice broke him out of his lustful thoughts. “And what of my Unsullied? How do you think I acquired them?” Another bite of mango and he felt the juice drip out of his mouth and before he could raise his hand and brush it away, her mouth was on his. Her tongue came out to taste him. He met hers with his own and she let out a small gasp.

 

Emboldened, he leaned forward to put the goblet of wine back on the table and pulled her closer. He’d find out about her armies after. Jon wanted her to the point of near insanity, now.

 

Her sticky fingers traced over his cheek as his other hand found her shoulder draped, in that soft fabric. He skimmed his fingers along the exposed skin of her neck and her tongue swept against his, causing him to feed her an unbidden moan. His hand went to cup her face, to seal their lips together, but she captured his hand in both her own and her weight suddenly left his lap.

 

“Come along, Jon,” she whispered. “Bed your wife.”

 

He stood, his body pressed close to her as she hadn’t stepped back from him. He could feel the quickening of her breath against his neck, but before he could lean down to kiss her, he felt the chair moved out of his way and the insistent tug of her hand to follow her.

 

He couldn’t resist the instinct to extend his other hand to make sure he didn’t hit anything. She stopped and took his other hand, pressing her body against his as she entwined their fingers. “I won’t let you bump into anything, Jon. Besides, it’s a clear path from here to the bed,” she kissed him again. He released her hands to hold her against him, able to feel her nipples hard against his chest, a slight tremble in her body as he scraped his teeth over her bottom lip.

 

She stepped away from him and he felt her hand at the hem of his tunic, and panic suddenly gripped him and he caught her hands. “Wait.” She released an irritated breath and he guessed that she had never been told to wait.

 

He swallowed, a lump in his throat, realizing that there was no way to hide what had happened to him. His heart was racing and he wondered how she would react. Would she be repulsed? Would she want to hear what happened?

 

He took a deep, steadying breath, released her hands and tugged his tunic over his own head and felt her take a step back as she gasped. “Oh, Jon,” she nearly moaned. “What...what happened to you?”

 

“Mutiny. My men didn’t appreciate that I allowed the Free Folk south of the wall.”

 

She was close to him once again, and the concern in her voice catching him off guard. “How did... how did you live?”

 

He frowned. “I didn’t. A Red Witch brought me back.”

 

The feel of her fingers tracing over the scar over his heart caused his hair to stand on end. Would she run from him, now? Turn and flee from the horrors in his skin?

 

“These men...they’re dead?” she asked quietly, a strange flame in her voice.

 

He nodded. “By my own hand.” He nearly jumped when he felt her press her lips against his chest. Then another kiss and his hands came up to grasp her shoulders, feeling the bare skin along her upper arms. He groaned when her hands gripped his hips and then slowly slid over his back. He tugged on the fabric of her dress, pressing his lips against her temple, her hair tickling against his mouth as he spoke. “How do we remove this?”

 

He couldn’t help but smile when he felt her lips turn upward against his skin. She removed her hands from his body and he frowned at the loss of her touch. There was a shuffling of fabric, and then the _whoosh_ as it fell to the floor. Her chuckle made him nervous, but any thoughts about what had amused her were gone as he felt her fingers at the laces of his leathers.

 

He was in full sensory overload now and he couldn’t even _see_ her. That damn _smell_ that he would now forever associate with her filtered into his mind, etching itself into his very bones, but there was something _else_ now. Something intoxicating. His tongue peeked out to wet his dry lips, curious. It was _her_. He could _smell_ her arousal in the air and he wanted to take his time to explore that thoroughly.

 

The feel of her hand sliding inside his leathers and gripping his cock nearly caused him to come.  He gripped her shoulders, trying to steady himself as the shock worked through his system. He worried that his palms were sweating and that he would embarrass himself.

 

He felt like he should have better control. He wasn’t an untouched lad anymore. But there was something very different about this. The only way to _see_ her was by _touching_ her and that was a thought that sent his brain spiraling.

 

She hummed, reaching up on her toes and kissed him again. She walked back a few steps, pulling him with her, when she suddenly turned him around and the back of his knees hit the bed. He reached between them and pushed his leathers to the floor and moved back on the mattress. She crawled over him and he rolled her to her back. She seemed to stiffen a bit and her breath caught, but his lips pressed against hers again and his fingers traced slowly along her body. He kissed his way down her neck, feeling her pulse jump beneath his lips. He nipped at it with his teeth and she shifted beneath him, pushing herself up toward his touch. He marked that down as a little victory.

 

Jon wanted her as off balance as he was. It wouldn’t be equal as long as he couldn’t see her, but maybe, here, he didn’t need to. He _wanted_ to. Her skin was so soft beneath his lips that he was certain his beard was leaving marks. Daenerys trailed her fingers up his back and when his mouth enclosed around her nipple she dug her nails in. He hissed around the hardened bud. Her skin tasted salty, but there was something sweet underneath. It reminded him of the way she smelled, something oddly familiar but distinctly nothing he’d ever known before.

 

He wanted more.

 

He cupped her other breast, swiping his thumb over the tip. She bucked her hips beneath him and his cock twitched as he felt her wet cunt brush against him. He was keeping his hips as far away from her as he could until he got a proper taste. Not even her impatient rutting would keep him from it.

 

But even he was growing wary. Her skin was so very hot against his hands and lips. He dragged his fingers over her flesh as he shifted on the bed, drifting lower. Her fingers were suddenly in his hair, removing the tie that bound his curls back, and suddenly she was grasping it in her hands, gently scratching her nails against his scalp. He leaned into her attentions for a moment, relishing the feel of her nails scratching gently through his hair, but as he felt her belly quiver beneath his mouth he remembered his ultimate goal.

 

Jon dragged his hands over her sides, down her waist, his lips trailing to her navel. His tongue flicked against it, and she squirmed, her breath catching for a moment before she was panting.

 

The scent of her was swimming in his head, his mouth filling with saliva as he parted her thighs wider and he shouldered between them. He drew it out, torturing her and himself in turn as he pressed kisses along the inside of her legs. He could feel the heat of her cunt, the press of her fingers on his head, trying to direct him where she wanted him. But he grabbed her hands and held them to the bed. “Patience,” he growled.

 

She had one foot propped on his shoulder, the other draped down his back. The first kiss on her cunt and he pulled back abruptly at finding her free of hair. He released one of her hands in order to trace his fingers along her folds, finding smooth, wet skin. “Fuck,” he whispered.

 

“It’s a Dothraki custom,” she said softly. “Do you like it?” she asked, and he could almost hear the worry in her tone.

 

He continued to trace his fingers along her bare lips and felt her wiggling her hips to try and get more. “I do. Very much. I wish I could _see_ it.”

 

She thread her fingers through his hair, amusement in her tone. “Not yet. But you can _taste_ it.”

 

“That is my intent, Your Grace,” he teased. She let out a  moan as he gave her a long lick, from entrance to clit. He had to stop for a moment, taking in the honeyed yet salty taste of her. He knew he was in trouble. There was no going back now.

 

He began licking at her outer lips, sucking her flesh into his mouth. The sound that echoed through the room was indecent, but he didn’t care as long as she continued to moan like as she was. He lapped at her, taking sips from her, his body aching to be inside her heat.

 

“Gods, Jon, more,” she panted.

 

He traced up to her clit and flicked it, feeling her shake beneath his exploring hands. When he reached her breasts, he found her own hands there and brushed them away. He pushed forward a bit, causing her to spread her thighs wider as he sucked her clit into his mouth. Her loud moan echoed against the stone walls and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. He released one of her breasts and brought his hand back to her cunt and stroked her soft skin. His middle finger traced over her entrance and slid in. He groaned against her, finding her tight, clenching around his finger.

 

His cock ached, growing impossibly harder at the thought of being engulfed by the heat of her, but he wanted her to come. He slid in another finger, stroking inside her, her hips rolling against his with each thrust. His lips found her clit again, and he alternated between sucking and licking, each one getting a different reaction. Licking caused her to shift her hips against him while sucking would cause her to still beneath him and hold her breath.

 

“Don’t stop,” she said, a hand in his hair once more. “Faster,” she urged. He didn’t know what she wanted faster, his tongue or his fingers, so he gave her both. He thrust his fingers inside her, the scent of her arousal making his head swim. She was so wet, his fingers slid in and out of her with ease. Both hands were in his hair now, holding his head still with a power he didn’t realize she possessed, her thighs tightening around his head, her toes pointed against his back. He sucked her clit into his mouth once more, flicking his tongue over her a few more times when her whole body seemed to shake beneath him, his name moaned loudly into the room.

 

He removed his fingers and dropped down to lap up her climax as she continued to shake beneath him. Her thighs had loosened their grip. He felt her tug on his hair, trying to get him to relinquish his feast, but the truth was he wasn’t done drinking her in.

 

“Jon,” she urged, pulling on his hair hard enough to cause pain. He reluctantly moved up her body, dropping kisses here and there, taking care to lick the tip of her breast, then up to her neck, finding her pulse again and sucked the flesh between his teeth. She tugged at his hair, pulling him loose from her neck. “I don’t have many high-necked dresses,” she said softly. He found her lips, and she took him greedily.

 

She pushed on his shoulder and he pulled back from her, worried. But she pushed him on his back as she straddled his hips. “I hope you don’t mind if I’m on top this first time. It makes me more comfortable,” she whispered to him.

 

His mind reeled with the thought, trying to picture it even if he couldn't see her. “I don’t mind in the least,” he growled against her lips, his hands moving along her knees, thighs, flanks, arse, over the smooth expanse of her back. She stroked him through her folds a few times and his hands stilled.

 

“Like that?”

 

He nodded. “But it’s too much,” he whispered.

 

She moved between his thighs. One hand slid along the crease of his upper leg and abdomen and he pushed his head back harder in the bed. He wished he could see her, damnit. He wanted to see her face, gauge her reaction. His own insecurities began to plague him, wondering what she thought of him. He hoped that she wasn’t disappointed. He was a man covered in scars. He’d seen the men in her company, most of them hulking brutes. What must she think of him?

 

All of those thoughts flew from his head as he felt her grip the base of his cock, her mouth hovering over the tip. He felt a thrill run through him. No one had ever done _that_ before and to think that a queen, _his queen_ … it caused him to twitch in her hand.

 

He felt the tip of her tongue come out to flick over the head. For the first time that night, he was _glad_ he couldn’t see her. She slid her hand from root to tip then back, spreading her saliva and his own wetness. She took the head of his cock into her mouth and moved down, meeting her hand as it traveled in an upstroke. He tried to focus on something else besides the feel of her wicked mouth and skilled hands. He couldn’t contain his groans and felt his heart racing in a way that it only did when he was fighting. Every breath seemed to be a chore.She pulled upward with her mouth, she would wrap that clever tongue of hers around the crown, flick over the slit, and then slide back down. He wanted to touch her, not guide her or push her, simply... touch her. He reached down and slipped his fingers into her hair. She stopped for a moment, seemingly gauging what he would do, but as he didn’t push, she continued.

 

Jon heard her shifting over him and then the press of her knees against his hips. She stroked his cock, rubbing the head against the slickness of her cunt, and finally, her entrance.

 

He knew when he’d slid his fingers inside her that she was as hot as the fires in the forge, but having his cock actually engulfed in that heat, he was certain he was going to die this way. It was so hot, it was almost uncomfortable. But then she started moving, her hips undulating in a slow rhythm against his. He gripped her sides, not guiding her, but holding on, hoping it would keep him grounded. But the scent of her cunt lingering in the air, the lewd sounds of their bodies moving together, filled his senses. Her hands pressed against his shoulders, holding her weight up as she bounced over him.

 

He only wished he could see it. He wished he could watch her. She must have been a sight to behold. He thrust into her, helpless, and she let out a strangled moan. “Do that again. Harder,” she ordered.

 

He gripped her hips and thrust into her again, harder, as she had commanded. Every time he would plunge in, he went harder than before, and every time she would moan his name.

 

He felt her arms shaking as they tried to hold up her weight. He brought her lips to his, and she collapsed on top of him as he began to thrust into her, faster than before movements. He felt her fingers slide between their bodies and he realized what she was doing. He braced his feet on the bed, gripped her tighter, changing the angle, picking up the pace. She was panting against his chest. Her cunt clenched around him and he stopped for a moment as it nearly made him come. He shook his head to refocus, taking the chance to roll her to her back. His hand removed hers from touching herself and took over the task at hand. Her hand found his again, showing him how she liked it even as he slid back inside her from where he had been unseated.

 

But now, with more control, one arm braced beside her head as he thrust inside her, hard and fast as she had requested. Her other hand moved through his curls and down to his face, tracing his bottom lip with her thumb. “Yes,” she said as he sped up the tempo. He hiked her leg over his forearm, finding that he slid deeper and his satisfied growl was met with a guttural moan.

 

He felt her back arch beneath him, her fingers in his hair tightening. Her hand was back again, circling around her clit as he pounded his cock into her. Her hips met his as best they could, but he could feel her coiling like a spring, being pulled too tight, and suddenly she released, crying out his name.

 

He wanted to prolong it. Nothing had ever felt as good as she did. The fluttering and clenching of her cunt along his cock, he knew he didn’t have the willpower to withstand it any longer.

 

He braced himself on one arm, gripped her other thigh tighter, and allowed his climax to seize him and he grunted her name, hissing the last letter. His strokes slowed as he emptied into her. He hung his head, exhaustion rippling through him. He didn’t want to crush her, but with a tug on his hair, he realized she might want him to. He released her thigh and slowly lowered himself on top of her. He rested his head atop her breasts and he listened to her own racing heart.

 

It seemed the Dragon Queen may have been as equally affected by him.

 

He’d say that was a good sign.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be Daenerys. 
> 
> Let me know what you think, please.


	4. When Passion's A Prison You Can't Break Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany is rather affected by her husband. She spends her day with the children from the orphanage as we learn more of the fallout from the battle for King's Landing. Daenerys has a crisis of conscious and wise counsel appears to help guide her along the way. Jon and Daenerys have dinner together once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thanks to meisie for giving this chapter a thorough once over! She did a brilliant job. She also updated [Up Against the Wall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12742644), and you all need to go read that fic immediately. 
> 
> Thank you to Justwandering-neverlost for the beautiful mood board she made for this fic
> 
> To the lovely tarts (FrostbitePanda, sparkles59, jaqtkd, noordinarylines, and justwandering-neverlost), you guys are absolutely amazing! You're always supportive and quick to offer tips and helpful advice and just to listen to me bitch.
> 
> If you don't read my other fics, just a note that I am having back surgery (yes another one) on Tuesday. I don't know what my update schedule will look like, but I don't know when I'll update this is what I mean to say.
> 
> Final note: I will no longer engage with trolls or people I perceive to be trolls. If I look at your comment and it offends me, you don't get to tell me that it doesn't. So, I will ignore you. I encourage others to ignore you as well. If you have a LEGITIMATE question (which is subjective to me), then I might answer you. But life is too short to let a few bored individuals ruin stories that I enjoy writing because you've made me feel bad about them. Fuck that. I can handle constructive criticism, but that would mean that your comments would have to be helpful and most of the time the comments that would label themselves constructive are the ones that I would label as bitch ass whiney babies. Also, consider this, if you're going to post something snide or cruel, maybe you don't do that. Maybe, what you do instead, is hit the back button and move on with your life.

 

Daenerys moved from the bed, looking back at her sleeping _husband_. She wanted to stay in the comfort of his arms and not return to her cold and lonely room, but that would require him to take another dose of the sightless liquid, and she didn’t want him to go most of the daylight hours blind. She was starting to doubt this idea as it was. She slipped into her dress and looked back at the bed once more. It was already so difficult to walk away from him. This was troubling.

 

She hadn’t expected Jon to look like he does. She expected a great hulking man covered in hair with no manners. Instead, she got the incredibly handsome man sprawled across the bed. Only a light sheet obscured his lower half and the best arse she’d ever seen. His dark curls partially covered his face and he snored ever so softly. It was so endearing and she had to physically shake herself to remind her that the goal was to bring him into her, not fall into him. She walked to the door, but stopped, feeling it was cold to leave him with nothing, so she went to the small writing desk in the corner, contemplating what to say. It needed to be something short and to the point. Nothing flowery or poetic.

 

_Jon_

 

_I thoroughly enjoyed our meal together. I look forward to supper tonight._

 

_I’ll make sure we have mango._

 

_Daenerys_

 

She stood back and looked at it, felt satisfied, and placed it on the pillow beside him. She then quickly moved out of the room, her Unsullied soldiers following her. As she made it down the hall to her empty room, she wished she could go back to Jon’s bed, curl into his arms, and sleep away the lethargy he had wrought on her. Instead, she undressed and crawled into her cold, empty bed and huffed at her own stupidity. She should have known the second she laid eyes on him that this wasn’t going to work out in her favor. He couldn’t see her, but she could very clearly see him.

 

It was unbalanced and she knew it. He’d come to her, of his own volition and submitted to her demands for a yet unknown reason. She would admit that when she’d gone into his room that evening it had been with the intent to bed her new husband. She felt guilty that he couldn’t see her but she could drink in her fill of him. She had to keep reminding herself that there was a purpose to this.  

 

She took a deep breath and reminded herself that this was what was best. She would be able to spend almost the entire night with him. She would go to him later, he would take the potion, and she would actually get to enjoy having him for the entire night. She closed her eyes, trying to console herself with that thought.

 

Until then, she would be tortured with thoughts of him.

 

*~*

 

Daenerys opened her eyes at the knock at her door. She saw that sunlight was now streaming in through the windows. She bid Missandei enter as she sat up in bed and stretched. “Good Morning, Your Grace.”

 

She gave her friend a smile as the maids came to bring food and placed it on the painted table beside the window. Missandei bid them all leave. Even though she was her advisor, Missandei was still the one that did her hair. “Good morning,” she said as she rose from the bed and donned her robe, but she noticed the other girl blush a bit. “What?”

 

“Enjoyable evening with your husband?” she quipped, a smile on her pretty face.

 

“Why do you ask?” she asked as she took a seat at the table and the two began eating. She smiled at seeing mango on the tray. She loved her breakfasts with Missandei. She was part of her council, but also her best friend. Her one true confidant. Since they landed on Dragonstone, they often broke their fast together. And now she also had an enjoyable dinner companion.

 

Missandei tapped her neck and she knew exactly what it was. He had marked her after all. She sighed and shook her head. “Something with a high neck today, then.”

 

“You’re also covered in whisker burns.”

 

She shrugged, but couldn’t keep away the smug smile that graced her lips. “Those I’ll wear proudly.”

 

Missandei chuckled. “So, it was a good evening?”

 

She nodded. “Very. He’s...different than I thought.”

  
“Very pretty face, too,” she said as she took a bite of tangerine.

 

Daenerys nodded. “Very pretty _everything_.” She looked at her friend and both burst into giggles. A knock sounded on the door and she bid the person to enter. Daario and Tyrion both walked in. Tyrion wore a smile to see her good mood, however, Daario didn’t look pleased. She didn’t truly care about his opinion. She told him explicitly that she would no longer allow him in her bed once she sailed to Westeros. He had appeared to be fine with that arrangement, insisting that he be allowed to stay at her side because who would protect her better than a man who loved her? However, since her decision to marry Jon, he’d grown quiet.

 

“Your Grace,” Tyrion said with a bow of his head. “Any bacon?” She smiled and pushed the plate towards the empty chair and he climbed into it. He closed his eyes, obviously savoring the taste. “It’s strange how much better this tastes than what I’m given.”

 

“Perhaps it’s your imagination.”

 

He shook his head. “Absolutely not. I know bacon.” Tyrion looked up at her, a knowing smile on his face. “Things went well with Jon Snow? Stark?”

 

She straightened a bit. She didn’t mind discussing it with Missandei, but something about Tyrion asking felt like an intrusion. “Everything went very well. Leave it at that,” she said softly.

 

“Of course. Grey Worm was on his way to his room as we passed. You’ll be safely tucked away in the throne room when he begins guiding him around the castle and the city.”

 

Daenerys took a sip of her wine and nodded. “Good.”

 

“The rest of your counsel will all be in court with you. The children are coming in today.”

 

She couldn’t keep the smile off her face, now. “Are they?” Tyrion gave her a bright smile as well. “Then this day just got a lot better. Let’s eat quickly and prepare.”

 

Tyrion left, taking his plate of bacon with him. Missandei glanced at Daario who still stood near Daenerys but said nothing.

 

“Is there something you wanted, Daario?” she asked, finally, not looking up at him. She didn’t want to hear his thoughts on her marriage, again. He’d been trying to talk her out of it since Tyrion told them all the plan. She knew Jorah also wasn’t thrilled, but he wouldn’t do or say any more than he already had. Daario, however, had taken nearly every opportunity to speak to her about it, and once she forbade him from having a conversation about it, began to make snide comments about the idea.

 

“Simply to check on your wellbeing, Your Grace.”

 

She looked up at him, her eyes narrowed before she rolled her eyes. “I’m very well, thank you.” He didn’t move and she heaved a sigh. “What is it?”

 

“The men of the North have a reputation of being brutes...”

 

She took another sip of her wine and counted to ten in her head twice before she answered him. Daenerys would not allow him to make such an insinuation about Jon. “Yes, well, my _husband_ seems to be the exception rather than the rule. Please wait outside until I’m dressed.” She heard him turn and leave, and she watched as the door closed behind him, shaking her head. “I warned him not to come. That I would marry for an alliance.”

 

Missandei drank down a sip of her wine, an eyebrow raised. “Perhaps he thought you would never marry and would eventually bring him to your bed again.”

 

“It hasn’t happened since we set sail for Westeros. I believe I’m capable of surviving without a man in my bed.”

 

Missandei gave her a beaming smile. “Although, now you have a very handsome man in your bed.”

 

“Yes, I do.” She wiped her mouth and fingered the spot on her neck. “How noticeable is it?”

 

Her friend gave her a playful smile. “Noticeable. I think your grey dress with crimson trousers would work best. You like sitting on the steps with the children,” she offered. “Perhaps the ladies in the court could do with being  more scandalized.”

 

Daenerys rolled her eyes. “Remind me again that it’s not good to feed them to Drogon.”

 

Missandei giggled and shook her head. “Feel free to feed them to him. Honestly, I’ve grown tired of the gossip.”

 

She looked over at her friend as she continued eating. “I hate it. But, they’re necessary to help establish Dragonstone as the better capital city. At least until we can get King’s Landing better situated.” Daenerys took a sip of her wine and tilted her head. “Also, keep them away from my husband.”

 

Missandei tilted her head in question. “Do you think he would be unfaithful to you?”

 

Daenerys furrowed her brow and thought on the question. Even though she didn’t know Jon all that well, she didn’t believe he would be unfaithful. “No, for some reason, I don’t think he would be. I don’t, however, trust those snakes in the grass not to tell him what I look like once it’s gotten out what’s happening.”

 

“Very well, Your Grace. I’ll make certain Grey Worm knows.”

 

She placed her napkin on the table. “Wonderful. Help me get dressed so we can greet the children.”

 

*~*

 

She was seated on the steps of the throne room, admiring the new clothes that had been made for the children. Two little girls, Daisy and Rose, gave her small pieces of black stone they had found on the beach that had been softened over time. It almost looked like glass.

 

The matron approached her with a smile. “Thank you for the additional beds. We weren’t expecting more, but now that your soldiers are keeping order in the city they have found more children in need of homes.”

 

Her brows knit together wondering what they had been doing to survive for so long. She sought to reassure the other woman. “I’ve told you if you need anything for them, or you, send someone here and I’ll make sure you get it. How are you doing on bed space?”

 

“Ten beds left, Your Grace.”  


Daenerys straightened her shoulder and folded her hands in front of her. They were almost full. “Do you need help tending to the children?”

 

She gave Daenerys a smile and shook her head. “You’ve given us guards and plenty of help, Your Grace. And the Maester arrived last week after we left your keep. He’s been setting up ways of teaching them.”

 

Daenerys gave her a smile. She was relieved that the Maester had arrived. She had a belief that everyone should receive a formal education, even those without the means to ask for one. She had no personal use of a Maester as she trusted the midwives of the Dothraki than some man who studied at the Citadel, but she did believe that they could teach children things that could help them in the years to come. “That is good news. Do let me know if you need anything else.”

 

“Your grace!” one of the children called, it was a boy named Ivan. She crouched to his level as he showed her his straw horse that had been given to him. “One day I’ll be a knight and I’ll protect ya!”

 

She chuckled. “Will you? What shall you protect me from?”

 

“Monsters with blue eyes.”

 

“Blue-eyed monsters? And where will they come from?”

 

His expression grew serious. “Ne’er heard o’ White Walkers?”

 

She shook her head, wondering what sort of stories he was being told. Or had been told before he’d lost his family. “I have not. What are White Walkers?”

 

“The dead. The dead are always marchin’,” Ivan said with a confidence that scared her. “They live north o’ ta Wall.”

 

She tilted her head and tried to bring the little boy some peace. “If they are North of the Wall, then I do not fear them. The Wall is meant to keep the bad things away from us. The Night’s Watch guard it and have for hundreds of years.”

 

Ivan’s dark eyes peered at her for only a moment before he lowered his head and walked away to join the other children. She felt like she had just crushed his spirit and she wasn’t sure if it was because she dashed his hope in something like White Walkers or if it was that she didn’t believe him in the first place.

 

As she looked at him, she felt an ache in her chest, extending to her empty womb. Rhaego would have been his age, now. Probably had dark hair and skin like his father. Perhaps been impetuous but a sweet boy. She shook herself, fighting off the tears about what could have been. She didn’t look back. _If I look back, I’m lost_.  

 

*~*

 

She stood in her war room, a goblet of wine in her hand as she stared out at the setting sun.  Very soon, she would make her way to the bridal chamber to join her husband for dinner. She’d been plagued with thoughts of him throughout the day. His deep voice that held so much curiosity about her. His dark curls that she had thoroughly enjoyed running her fingers through as he’d kissed her with his perfect mouth. His rough hands that had tormented her with his touch.

 

The sight of the angry red scars had troubled her for some time. He’d been killed by his men. It was bizarre to even think of, but then she had walked through fire, not once but twice, and brought dragons back into the world. If anyone could believe that a man could be brought back from the dead, perhaps it was her. Her enigmatic husband was making this endeavor incredibly difficult on her. She knew what she was asking from him was a lot. In fact, most people would have probably called her mad like her father and left. But that only made her wonder why Jon stayed.

 

She was so lost in her thoughts she didn’t hear Tyrion approach. “Your Grace? Something troubles you?”

 

She realized her brow was furrowed and her lips were turned down in a frown. One thing she always liked about Tyrion was he never told her what she wanted to hear. And now, she needed his honest guidance as she turned to her Hand. “Am I doing the wrong thing? To Jon, I mean? Am I wrong?”

 

Tyrion furrowed his brow and she could see him trying to consider what to say. “I could argue either side.”

 

“Argue the side against what I’m doing,” she said softly.

 

Tyrion moved to the table and sat in a chair. “You’re taking away his sight. That’s extreme.” He paused and she could almost see the wheels inside his head turning, working up what to say that would help the most. “He came here with a certain amount of trust in us, already, to not kill him or take him prisoner the second he set foot on the sand. And yes, he did agree to it, but...did he actually have a choice?”

 

She nodded. “I would have sent him back to Winterfell and figured out something else.”

 

“Even after you saw him?”

 

Her eyes narrowed at her hand. “I don’t know if I like the implication.”

 

He smirked. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. There is an unfair advantage on your side. You’re a queen and I’m sure that part of him felt like he couldn’t refuse you. In that case, it does appear he’s more prisoner rather than...willing victim.”

 

She took the chair beside him. “I would have let him leave.”

 

“But...perhaps he came here for a reason.” He took a deep breath. “I know this. Jon Snow, or Stark, is an honorable lad. At least he was when I left him at the Wall. And knowing about the Starks as I do, I would hazard a guess to say that you would be hard-pressed to find men more honorable than the ones raised by Ned Stark.” He paused and poured his own glass of wine and took a sip before speaking. “If he came here, and he agreed to this, I’m willing to wager that he has a reason. Especially considering the stipulation.”  


She furrowed her brow and leaned back in her chair. “He told me as much when we first spoke. He simply doesn’t trust me with the reason, yet.”

 

“He was a member of the Night’s Watch, yet he’s left the Wall and joined his brother and sister in fighting for their home. There has to be a reason for all of that.” His fingers tapped on the arm of his chair as he took another sip of his wine. “Are you feeling guilty?” She didn’t voice the words but nodded. He gave her a soft smile. “You’re a good person, Your Grace. You don’t like games of intrigue. I believe it’s natural that you feel that way.”

 

“Natural?”

 

He nodded. “You’re holding yourself back from him. You don’t trust as easily as you might have in the past. For good reason.” He tilted his head and she noticed that his eyes flashed with understanding and even empathy. “It’s difficult to know who to trust when you’re judged your entire life for something out of your control.”

 

“I do feel guilty,” she said after a moment. “I don’t want to play games. I agreed to marry him, but...did I do this for good reasons?”

 

He shrugged. “Good or bad, they’re your reasons.”

 

“You said you could argue both sides. Argue for it.”

 

He took a deep breath. “You need an alliance with the North in order to bring the entire continent under you. Jon Stark...Snow...I’m going to call him Jon Snow. It feels unnatural to call him Jon Stark...”

 

“Because you think of him as a bastard?” she questioned.

 

Tyrion frowned. “No, Your Grace. Because I think of him as different from the Starks. I can identify with Jon Snow. I don’t know how to relate to Jon Stark.” He looked down into his glass and frowned. “ _All dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes_.”

 

“Argue for it, Tyrion,” she said before she drained her cup and held it out for him to refill.

 

“You married him quickly, to secure the alliance. But, in your experience, people judge you based on your appearance. No doubt that he has thoughts of what you look like. He knows you’re beautiful. Everyone in Westeros knows that,” he said and looked her in the eye. “But if anyone can understand wanting to be something more than their appearance, it’s me.” He leaned his head back against his chair and gave her a soft smile. “I would also remind you that he heard your reasons and agreed to this. It was _his choice_.”

 

She drained her glass once more and handed it back to him before she stood. “Thank you.”

 

“Did our conversation help?”

 

Daenerys gave him a soft smile. “A little. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

She walked down the hall, her Unsullied guards following her. She didn’t stop at her room, instead, she went straight to Jon’s. She knocked on the door and heard his voice come from inside. “Who is it?”

 

She faltered for a moment, unsure what to call herself. The queen? Daenerys? “Your wife,” she said clearly.

 

Shuffling sounded from behind the door. “Wait, I haven’t taken the potion yet.” Only a moment passed before he called her to enter. “Alright, everything is white again,” his voice sounded irritated.

 

“Guard the ends of the hall, please,” she said to the Unsullied guards as she opened the door. She found Jon still fully dressed near the bed. The empty vial still in his fingers as he reached for the table beside the bed. She moved over to him and guided his hand. His breath hitched as she touched him for the first time that evening.

 

She took him in and took a deep breath. His eyes were open, but they were as white as her hair in the sunlight. His hair was pulled back from his face, displaying the many scars. The one that seemed to travel down to his left eyebrow and then his cheek. Another circled around his right temple. Her husband had seen war and survived. She put a hand over his heart, remembering the vivid red marks on his chest. Not survived. Was reborn. He captured her hand and he kissed the tips of her fingers.

 

“Have you eaten, Your Grace?” he asked, his voice deep and soothing to her.

 

“I have not. Would you care to join me?”

 

He gave her a slight smile. “Only if we have the same arrangement we did last night.”

 

Her heart raced as she internally chastised herself. She wasn’t meant to be the one enchanted. He was supposed to see that she was a good queen. He was supposed to understand that she was the best for the realm and that he trusted her even though she did this to him. Instead, she stood in front of him, blushing like a maid. She hated how weak she felt in his presence. She was shifted off balance.

 

This was the room she would share with Jon. Where they would have dinner together, talk about the events of the day, and where she would find pleasure in their marital bed. Each night, she would wake and go to her other room hidden in the castle from him, and wondered if that would always be difficult to do. But for now, there couldn’t be any mistakes where he could see her on accident.

 

She took his hand in hers and led him to the table where the food was laid out, his steps were hesitant and she guiltily watched him try to acclimate to once more losing his sight. She turned her attention from her tormented feelings and instead to the table in front of them. Mango as she had requested as well as venison, roasted vegetables, and assorted fruits from the realm. The scene of fresh bread filled her head as she pulled his chair back from the table and he sat on it. She felt his hands on her hips and he guided her down onto his lap.

 

“Tell me about your day, Your Grace.”

 

She chuckled. “Daenerys,” she reminded him.

 

“Daenerys,” he repeated. “Apologies.”

 

“Forgiven,” she said as she piled food onto the plate, trying to distract herself from the way his thumb traced over the curve of her hip.

 

“I had a council meeting this morning.” She neglected to mention that the council meeting wasn’t her full assembly, nor was breakfast with Missandei considered to actually be a meeting. “And I spent the rest of the day with the children from the orphanage.”

 

“Grey Worm told me that they’re from King’s Landing. You moved them here?”

 

She was curious about the conversations he could have had with the leader of her Unsullied. Grey Worm had been assigned to show Jon around, to be his guard, as she trusted him much more than Jorah and especially Daario. He would follow her orders and do as she bid without question. She needed that sort of loyalty. “Did he not tell you why?”

  
He smirked. “He’s a man of few words.”

 

“Did he talk to you at all?” she asked, unable to keep some of the amusement out of her voice. She could see how the leader of her Unsullied would not be a great conversationalist.

 

“He talked. Mostly about his patrols and whether or not I would practice with my sword against him.” She filled up the glass of wine and put it in his hand. “He said he wants to be better against men who fight with swords and that he can already best Ser Jorah.”

 

He took a sip of wine and she released a heavy breath through her nose at seeing his tongue peek out to lick at a droplet that had escaped. She turned her gaze away from him and concentrated on making sure he ate.

 

“What did you think of the village?”

 

“It’s large and seems to be growing larger. You have a number of people coming in as a steady stream.”

 

“I rule from here since the Red Keep is gone. Merchants follow royalty. And I moved the orphanage here to better assess what they might need.”

 

“You said the children were all here, today. Why?”

 

She scooped up a bite of pheasant and held it to his lips. His lips. She was transfixed by them. The way he talked, his thick accent and husky voice capable of sending shivers down her spine. The way a corner of his mouth would turn up in a half smile. The way he kissed. She believed she could spend hours kissing him and never grow tired. She had loved the feeling of him dragging his lips over her breasts and down her stomach.

 

“They come to the castle every week,” she replied and brought a bite of the roasted vegetables up for him to taste, but as he chewed he grimaced. “Did you not like that?” she asked, concerned.

 

“No. What was it?” he asked, swallowing down the bite and then taking a sip of wine.

 

She looked over the platter. “No way of telling which you disliked. It was a mixture of vegetables.”

 

He shook his head. “Horrible, whatever it was.”

 

Daenerys lifted a piece of mango and brought it to his lips. “This is something I know you like.”

 

He took a bite and smiled as he nodded. “I am fond of mango,” he said once he swallowed. “Back to the children?”

 

She struggled to turn her attention away from interest on his face. It warmed her in ways that made her anxious to finish the meal and get to the dessert.

 

Daenerys did her best to focus and answer his question. “I like to watch them play and to play with them.” She took a deep breath and frowned. “Children are innocent and these have lost their parents for one reason or another. If I can bring them just a few moments of happiness, then I will. It also allows me time to meet with the matron of the orphanage to assess if they need anything. Clothes, food, toys, or more help tending to them. They will all receive an education, as well. No child in my kingdom will ever be denied an education.” She noticed a small smile on his lips and wondered at it. “What? Why are you smiling?”

 

“The fervor in which you speak about children,” he paused for a moment and then continued, “it appears that all of my greatest fears about you might have been unfounded.”

 

“What fears?”

 

He was silent for a moment and she watched as the expressions changed over his face like a flash of lightning. He went from playful to serious, his lips now turned downward in a frown. “How honest do you want me to be?”

 

She considered that and then took a deep breath. She knew she needed to know what the Northron houses thought of her. And if Jon was here, for her purpose, to bring them into the fold, she would need to know the ugly truth. “Whatever you confess, I won’t hold it against you.”

 

The crease in his brow eased, he took a deep breath and seemed to nod in resignation. “What we know about you is only rumor and gossip. You know how troublesome that can be in relaying real information.” He tilted his head and he tightened his grip on her hip. “The Mad King’s daughter. Bloodthirsty. Conquered the world with your dragons and armies you stole.” He sighed. “You think little of the people you conquered which is why you live in Dragonstone and not the capital.”

 

She told him to be honest and he’d said nearly the same the night before, but the bluntness of his statement caused her great concern. She heaved a sigh and brought another bite of the pheasant to his lips. “And I’ve eased your fears?”

 

He was silent for a moment, tilting his head towards her and she realized how close she was to him, that he was inhaling her scent. She tried to concentrate on the food in front of her, taking a bite of pheasant as she waited for his answer. “I’ve never heard of a monarch inviting orphans to their keep to play with them,” he answered softly.

 

She took the wine from him at the same time as she placed a heel of bread in his hand. “It’s selfish on my part,” she said before she took a sip of the wine. “Watching them brings me peace. My childhood was so filled with running and fear that playing wasn’t an option most of the time. And if I can make them happy, why shouldn’t I? No child should ever be made to feel they are unimportant...”

 

He put the piece of bread onto the plate abruptly as his face turned towards hers. “I need you to kiss me,” he said softly.

 

His statement caused a jolt to rush through her blood. He didn’t give a reason and she didn’t ask for one as she turned to him and brushed her lips against his for only a second. He cupped the back of her head and brought her lips to his more forcefully. Daenerys didn’t know what had brought this on so suddenly, but she wasn’t going to complain, especially when his tongue began exploring her mouth. She dropped the glass of wine to the floor then cupped his face in her hands. Now, she wished she’d changed into something easier to remove. She wished he was disrobed as well.

 

“I thought of this all day,” he said when he broke the kiss. His lips moved along her jaw and down her neck where he encountered the high collar of her dress.

 

“You marked me,” she said breathlessly as she began working on the clasps of his hauberk followed by his jerkin and found a tunic beneath. “Don’t you get hot wearing all of these layers?”

 

His hands slid from her shoulders over her breasts to her back. “Unburden me,” he muttered, his lips nipping at the sensitive skin beneath her chin. Daenerys was surprised at the restraint he showed to not rip through the laces, though she could feel the frustration as he tugged a bit harder than necessary in certain places. She’d have to stand to remove it completely. When he reached the bottom of the laces, he pulled on the shoulders of her dress, causing her to break her hold on him and slide the sleeves off her arms.

 

She stood in front of him and pushed the top layer over her hips to pool at her feet. His hands were moving over the satin of the crimson layer beneath and his mouth moved upward from her belly as his hands reached for the back of the underdress, trying to find the laces. She thrilled at the growl he released at obviously not finding what he wanted. He stood then and found the table behind her. With a wide sweep of his arm, he pushed the food to the side, most of it falling to the floor.

 

Daenerys nearly complained at the mess he’d made until his lips found hers again. He gathered her skirts up to her hips and pushed her back on the table. He released a groan of frustration to find her wearing leathers beneath her dress. “You seem to be the one who’s wearing too much damn clothing,” he muttered even as he unlaced her. She toed off her ankle boots as he tugged down on her leathers and tossed them to the floor. She leaned forward and traced over the ugly red scar that marred his chest with her mouth as she moved her hands over his back to the curve of his arse.

 

He trailed his fingers over her bare thigh before he tugged her to the very edge of the table. Daenerys untied the laces of his leathers and freed his cock, stroking it even as his lips moved back up to hers. The nudge of his cock against her folds caused her to gasp and grip his hair with her fingers. “Don’t tease,” she said as she gripped his hair with one hand and dug her nails into his arse. She let out a moan as the tip of his cock brushed against her clit. Her body tightened around his when he finally slid inside her. Her head dropped back as he slid his hand beneath her knee and his other balanced on the table as he took her with hard jabs.

 

She was already so wet for him that he’d slid inside her easily. Daenerys felt thrown off by how much she wanted him. She barely knew him and yet, just his touch had her so ready for him. With every long slide inside her, whatever resistance she had crumbled. She bit her lip, trying to control how she wanted to scream for him. He felt perfect held deep in her, as if it was where he was meant to be, each thrust making her and unraveling her at the same time. Her frustration was mounting as she was supposed to be the one who was setting him on fire, bringing him to the edge of ecstasy. Instead, just the sound of his voice could set her on edge. A quirk of his eyebrow could cause her to shift in her seat, but she didn’t think he understood the power he now held over her.

 

“Faster,” she grunted. He suddenly shifted their position and she lay on her back on the table looking up at him. She let him prop one leg over his shoulder, and then he started thrusting again, harder and faster, his cock bumping against her womb. She moaned his name and thumped her head against the table. “Yes, Jon!” She brought her hands up to her breasts and rolled the tips between her fingers, taking in the beautiful picture he presented. His brows were knitted together, his hair unraveled from her fingers raking through it, his lips open to release these perfect little grunts every so often. The muscles of his abdomen clenched tightly as he slammed his cock into her. She watched where they were fused together, the sight almost too much for her buzzing senses.

 

“Touch me,” she groaned. His faster pace and the intensity of his thrusts slowed. His fingers slid gently over her knee, up her thigh. She thrust against him, trying to get him to resume, but he didn’t. His thumb traced along her folds and she clenched her muscles against his slowly thrusting cock.

 

“Stop,” his voice a gruff demand that she wanted to both follow and disobey. She was nearly ready to order him to continue, but the soft kisses along her calf and the light touches of his fingers around where they were joined had her spiraling closer to the peak. “You feel so fucking perfect,” he muttered. “Nothing compares to you.”

 

Daenerys licked her lips and dropped her leg from his shoulder. She sat up and pulled his mouth down to a kiss, her fingers fisting in his hair to hold his mouth to hers. Both legs wrapped around his hips, trying to urge him to go, again. “Jon,” she thrust her hips against his, trying to get him to move. When he did, the table creaked beneath them. Daenerys clung to him as he slammed his hips into hers and she was unable to stop from moaning.

 

She was so close and knew it would only take a few more rough thrusts before she shattered. Jon cupped one of her breasts and took the tip into his mouth, licking and biting, causing sparks to flash through her entire body. It all pooled in her belly and as his teeth scraped against her skin it exploded, shaking as her orgasm rocked through her to the tips of her toes, through her head, and back. She sank back on the table as he thrust into her a few more times. She watched his face as he came, his brows lowered, his mouth barely hanging open even as he hung his head and moaned her name. She pulled him down to rest against her, his breath against her heaving breasts, his hands stroking gently over her skin.

 

For a moment, she could forget about everything but the feel of them together. Wrapped in his arms as she was, she could simply be his wife and he could be her husband.

 

*~*

 

She traced the lines down his abdomen as his fingers tickled at her hip. His eyes were closed and she cradled him. “I should have someone come in and clean up the mess you made?”

 

He smirked and didn’t look the least bit apologetic. “It’s your fault.”

 

She lifted her head and looked down at him. “And how is it my fault?” even she could hear the haughtiness in her tone.

 

He was silent for a moment. “I have a soft spot for orphans and bastards. It appears that you do as well.” The fingers at her hip moved lower over the curve of her arse. “Was damn near impossible not to kiss you after that.”

 

She pressed a kiss to his chest. “I think you did more than _kiss_ me on that table.”

 

He chuckled. “Are you complaining?”

 

She shook her head as she pressed her chin to his chest. “Did I sound like I was complaining?” she asked.

 

“Sounds like you might be, now.”

 

“No, _husband_ ,” she said as she wriggled on top of him, her thigh grazing over his hardening cock. “I will never complain about that,” she whispered before she pressed her lips to his. His hands wrapped around her shoulders and he rolled her onto her back. “Wait,” she said and he lifted his head from where he’d been pressing his lips to her shoulder. “I wanted to ask you before we got distracted again.”

 

“Ask me what?” he asked, and she found it adorable the way he tilted his head, reminding her of her dragons a bit.

 

“Would you like to attend court with me, tomorrow?” she watched his brow furrow and she took a deep breath and continued. “It would mean you would have to take another dose in the morning. But I want you to come to court, to see how I handle matters in the kingdom. Part of this is getting you to trust me as a queen, and I can’t very well get you to do that if you never experience me outside of the bedroom.”

 

He took a deep breath and furrowed his brow. “You don’t have to convince me. Though, I do wonder how you’ll explain both my presence and my eyes.”

 

She traced her fingers along his jaw, a smile on her face that he couldn’t see. “I’m the queen. Why do I have to explain anything?”

 

Jon’s answering smirk caused her stomach to flutter. “I suppose you don’t. As is your right.”

 

She hummed happily and smoothed her hands over his shoulders and over his sides. “I think I want you to demand your right as my _husband_ to fulfill my wifely duty.”

 

He leaned down and his lips hovered over hers. “Isn’t it technically _you_ demanding of _me_?”

 

“Semantics,” she said with a laugh.


	5. You'll Feel It In My Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Daenerys wake up together and discuss their current predicament. Jon experiences the Queen in action in court and an ally proves to still be alive. Grey Worm and Jon have manly bonding time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right at the start, HUGE HUGE HUGE HUGE thanks to FrostbitePanda for the beta job she did on this. I get all anxious when she gets in the document and starts doing her thing. In the end, though, it's totally worth it because she makes me a better writer by expecting more from me. That's the sort of help that you can't pay for. Well, maybe you can, but I'm broke yo! 
> 
> Thank you to justwanderingneverlost for the GORGEOUS banners she's made for this fic! She's so fucking good at it.
> 
> I hope AO3 actually works and lets me post this chapter!
> 
> Thank you to the amazing Discerning Tarts who help talk me down from the ledge when I'm right up against it! Lifesavers, all of you.
> 
> Apologies that it took me so long to get an update out for this fic. I had very invasive back surgery and it's just been more of a struggle to recover this time. 
> 
> The title of this chapter is "Crazy for You" by Madonna. It is still my favorite song by her.

 

 

The room was dark-- the hearth down to only one glowing ember. The potion had worn off. She was still in bed beside him, the warmth of her body making the blankets unnecessary. It was the first time he’d actually been with her where his sight had been restored. He couldn’t see her face, only make out the shadow of her body beside his. He didn’t want to move, but laid amongst the furs, smelling her scent, and remembering the events of the night before. He gritted his teeth and tore himself away from the temptation of looking at her. He reached for one of the vials of the potion that sat beside his bed and downed it.

 

Instead of the pitch black of darkness, everything was white once again. He hated this, hated the blindness as it required him to trust that no one would hurt him. It wasn’t easy.

 

He felt her stir beside him and sit up. He tugged her back toward him. “I already took another dose. Stay.”

 

She curled around him, her hand resting on his chest and her leg entwined with his. She took a deep breath as her fingers traced over his skin. “I like waking up with you.”

 

“You could do it every morning if I didn’t have to be blind,” he prodded. He had to wonder if she felt any remorse about what she asked of him.

 

He felt her lips press against his shoulder. “Not yet,” she said quietly.

 

“When?”

 

She sat up again and he followed. “I don’t know.”

 

He shook his head. “You realize how frustrating that answer is, don’t you?” He didn’t want to fight with her but he couldn’t contain his irritation.

 

He didn’t know what he expected her to say, but her question took him off guard. “Jon, what is your opinion of me?”

 

He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

 

Her voice was small as she spoke, the sheets crinkled as she shifted on the bed.  “I mean... you obviously have opinions about me, before you arrived and now. What do you think of me?”

 

“I think you’ve got a good heart.” He ran a hand through his hair nervously then propped his arms on his raised knees. He hated to hear the doubt in her voice, and how she seemed to be holding her breath while she waited for his answer. “You’re determined, frustratingly so. Clever. And even though I can’t see you, you’re damn seductive.”

 

She was silent for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was sad, “And nowhere in those descriptions did you say I was a good queen.”

 

Jon rubbed his hand over his beard and took a deep breath. “To be fair, all I know about you as a queen is hearsay. We only met a few days ago, but this has already proven to me that I have to put aside the rumors and what I think I know.” He sighed and turned toward her. “But I feel like you could accomplish dispelling rumors and without blinding me every night.”

 

“I don’t,” she whispered. “It sounds mad, I know. I feel like people don’t see me for what I am. My first husband agreed to marry me because of my beauty. The masters of Yunkai assumed I was simple because of my long hair and my pretty dresses. The leaders of Qarth only saw me as a pretty trophy with dragons. Even now, sitting on the throne of my ancestors, my father, I still cannot find shelter from these judgments.”

 

He felt her shift on the bed and then her fingers were beneath his chin, as she turned his face toward her. “I want one person in my world who sees the _real_ me. And I want that person to be you.”

 

He held her hand, her skin was so soft compared to his. He was dumbfounded by her admission, unable to find the words at first to even question her. He was the Bastard of Winterfell, even if Robb had legitimized him. He still felt undeserving of her. “Why? Why me?”

 

“ _Strategically_ , you made the most sense,“ She paused for a moment and he heard the rustle of linens beneath her legs as she climbed onto his lap. Her hands stroked over his shoulders as his hands slid over her thighs and to her hips. Her thumb traced over the scar at his heart. “You gave your life to see that other people could have a better one. I’ve dedicated _mine_ to the same cause. The more I learn about you the more I want to be someone you respect.”

 

He tilted his head and sighed, hurt that she believed he didn’t respect her. “What makes you think I don’t respect you?”

 

She brushed her fingers over his jaw and back to stroke through his hair and he couldn’t control how his head tilted into her touch. “Do you respect _me_ or my power?”

 

“You,” he answered. “You got your _power_ because of the person you are. Clever and determined,” he said with a smile. “If I didn’t respect you, I would have left after our first conversation in your throne room.”

 

Through the course of their troubled talking, his hunger for her had waned, but then she leaned forward and brought her mouth to his and he was lost. Jon broke the kiss and slid his lips over her throat, causing her to gasp and thrust against him. He groaned into her skin, picturing in his mind what the delectable body on top of him looked like. He cupped her breasts, holding the weight of them in his hands before his mouth latched onto a nipple. His tongue traced the hard peak, nipped it with his teeth to get her to moan as he had come to expect from her. The sound echoed through the room, music to his ears.

 

Her hands fisted in his hair, holding him to her. Her thighs tightened at his hips, trying to get more friction. Jon gripped his cock to rub it against her slit and she stilled, whimpering in his ear. He moved to his knees then lay her back in the bed, taking his time to lick the salt from her skin. “Jon,” she moaned.

 

She pushed him to his back and turned, facing his feet. His hands gripped her thighs as she slid him inside her cunt. Jon traced over her skin gently with one hand as the other grasped her hip tightly.

 

Every thrust was madness as she propped her hands on his thighs, grinding on top of him, rolling her hips against his. He braced his feet on the bed and bucked into her in retaliation, feeling her cunt tighten around his cock. He felt her lean back, hitting a new angle inside her. The tips of her hair brushed his belly and he gathered it in his hand. “Daenerys,” he groaned, feeling closer. She took his hand at her waist and brought it to her breast, realizing she was leaning back further than he’d thought.

 

“Harder, Jon,” she moaned. Her words sent a bolt of want straight to the core of him. If he weren’t already sightless, he was certain that his vision would have blotted out.  He sat up then and moved her to her stomach on the bed. She moved out of his hold and put a stilling hand on his chest. “Not like that,” she pleaded, her voice panicked.

 

He put every urge he had away from his mind. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

 

She cupped his face in her hands and exhaled a shaky breath. “No. Just...not like that.” She placed a kiss on his lips. “You didn’t hurt me,” she whispered.

 

What had sparked such an adverse reaction he would ask her, later, as she was now pulling him over her. The trauma from her past still lingered with her as his did him, and he wanted nothing more than to protect her. He knew if he thought about it for too long, he would become engrossed in it and ruin their moment together. Her kisses were a welcome distraction and he braced himself on his elbows. Her hands scratched over his shoulders, his back, down to his ass. Only when she dug her nails in did he break the kiss to gasp at the sting of pain. She reached between them, and after two strokes, she guided him inside her once more. She was hot, wet, and panting his name as he gripped her thigh and hitched it higher. He licked, kissed, and sucked at her throat, hoping he left behind marks to show the world that she was his wife.

 

“Yes,” she whimpered. “So. Close,” she managed through gritted teeth. Her body tightened, her fingers in his hair scratched his scalp, and he hitched her leg over his forearm and thrust harder. He groaned when she came and it was only a few more thrusts before he found his own release. His arms shook beneath him. He settled to the side of her, pulling her into his arms. She went willingly.

 

He smiled at the feel of her nuzzling her nose against his pulse. “Yes, I like waking up with you,” she whispered as she curled against him.

 

*~*

 

Jon found the rest of their morning to not be as good as it had started.

 

His wife had ushered away the maid who had attempted to help him dress and took that duty up for herself. He stood silently as she tugged on his tunic, listening to her breaths when she brought his hauberk over his shoulders. The rasp of linen over her delicate fingers sounded louder in the room than he would have guessed as she straightened the hem. By the time she was done, he was ready to undo all her good work and spend the day lounging in bed.

 

“Good morning, Your Grace. Lord Stark.”

 

Jon turned toward the direction of the voice, recognizing it immediately as his wife’s closest adviser. “Jon, please, Lady Missandei,” he said with a grimace. “Lord Stark makes me...uncomfortable.”

 

Daenerys led him to the table and helped ease him into the chair. He knew that she would not be assisting him with eating as she had done with past, more private meals, but he could not help being disappointed. His least favorite meal with her thus far. “I wondered how you had taken to your new name and title,” Tyrion’s voice sounded behind him.

 

Jon turned his head toward Daenerys. “Who all is in the room?”

 

“Missandei and Tyrion. Grey Worm is guarding the door,” she said softly.

 

“Do you want us to leave?” Tyrion poked.

 

“No. Are you here simply to eat our bacon or for conversation?”

 

He heard a chair pull out beside him and food being placed on a plate. “Both. Mostly bacon though.”

 

“So, Jon, what do you think of Dragonstone?” Tyrion asked and Jon could smell wine as it was poured into a glass.  

 

He finished the bite in his mouth and shrugged. “From what I saw yesterday, it appears you’re establishing quite the city.”

 

“A necessity at the moment, I’m afraid,” Tyrion answered, clearly distressed. “We’re keeping as much of King’s Landing up and running as we can, but rebuilding Flea Bottom has been an... interesting endeavor.”

 

Jon tilted his head. “How so?”

 

“Well, when it blew up, it destroyed the sewers beneath it and ruined the drainage point for the north side of the city.” He took a bite of his bacon, the crunch echoing through the room. “I’ve been working on a better system as the Unsullied continue to discover more caches beneath the city.”

 

Jon furrowed his brow, confused. “Caches of what?”

 

“Wildfire,” Daenerys answered from his other side. “It was stored beneath the city. We were fortunate to get to the pyromancers that were to ignite the rest of the city. We... we didn’t know about Flea Bottom.”

 

Jon shook his head as the implication of what they were saying fully settled in. “You attacked the city with dragons...”

 

Tyrion was the first to speak, disapproval etched in his words. “No. We attacked the _Red Keep_. Cersei gave the order for Flea Bottom to be destroyed.”

 

Daenerys then stood from beside him and he turned his head toward her, feeling her leave the room. “Missandei, join me in my room. Tyrion, please see to it that Lord Stark makes it to the throne room.”

 

The hardness in her voice set him on edge and knew he’d hurt her. Tyrion’s long suffering sigh broke the silence. “You truly have a spectacular way of putting your foot in your mouth.”

 

“What did I say?”

 

Grey Worm answered before Tyrion could, his tone clearly indicating that he was angry. “Our queen did not blow up Flea Bottom. The Mad Queen ordered it.”

 

Jon turned his attention to Tyrion, asking for confirmation. “Truly?”

 

“You tell me, Lord Stark, you’re the one who’s married to her, has gotten to know here these past few days. Does she strike you as someone who would hurt people like that? Especially those who suffer the most like those in Flea Bottom?”

 

Jon leaned back in his chair and dropped the fruit onto the plate, a deep frown on his face as he thought this over. He hung his head, pressing his knuckles to the bridge of his nose. What a bloody fool he was, accepting rumor born in bias as truth. And now he had offended his wife, a woman burdened with the deaths of thousands that she did not ask for. He only hoped the she would allow him to apologize.

 

“Take heart, Lord Stark...” Tyrion began, talking through the piece of bacon in his mouth, obviously able to sense his shame and remorse.

 

“Jon,” he interrupted weakly, his voice hollow.  He cared not about names and titles right now but he did not know what else to say.

 

“Fine. Jon,” Tyrion placated, though Jon could practically hear him roll his eyes as he focused on names and titles. “We all knew that you were coming here with your own notions about our queen.” He paused to take a sip of wine, which Jon heard swish in his goblet. “I suppose it will take time to suss out what you’ve been told, and what is the truth.”

 

Jon took a deep breath, feeling wretched. “How angry was she when she left?”

 

Tyrion paused for a moment climbed from his chair. “I believe she might have been more _hurt_ than angry. Something I believe you’ll be able to remedy when you’re alone together.”

 

“I hope,” he said softly.

 

“Come along. We’ll introduce you to court and you will get to experience the queen in action.”

 

*~*

 

Jon was seated to Daenerys’s left, his sword still strapped to his side. He listened to the hushed whispers of the crowd below him. He could not make out much, but he could take a good guess as to what the topic of their whispers were. The rustle of fabric to his left caught his attention and he realized she had stood.

 

Missandei began with her litany of titles. “You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. Rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men. Protector of the Seven Kingdoms. The Mother of Dragons. The Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. The Unburnt. The Breaker of Chains.” The room had grown silent and he felt a nudge at his elbow and registered it was Tyrion telling him to stand. “And Lord Jon Stark of Winterfell. The White Wolf. King Regent of Queen Daenerys Targaryen.”

 

A voice cleared in front of them and Jon took his seat once more as he heard Daenerys sit. He listened as someone approached the front of the dias. He hoped that this proved to be a fruitful exercise, otherwise the headache he was currently experiencing would not be worth it.

 

“Your Grace,” came a gruff voice from in front of them. “I am Lord Willas Tyrell. My grandmother swore allegiance to you, before she was killed by the Lannisters.”

 

“My lord, welcome to Dragonstone,” Daenerys began softly. “I offer my condolences for your grandmother. She was a wise woman and I valued her counsel.”

 

The man heaved a sigh. “She thought highly of you, Your Grace. She thought you could be the redemption my family deserved. Before Highgarden was sacked, she sent me from the city to hide in Dorne,” he admitted, something that might have been shame filtering into his voice “She knew that the Lannisters would kill every last Tyrell. I’ve come to seek your help in taking back Highgarden from the bandits that have taken control. They torment the people, the merchants...”

 

“Do you know how many bandits reside in the castle?” Tyrion asked.

 

“I believe the count, according to a spy I have on the inside, to be three hundred.”

 

Daenerys was silent for a moment and he heard her shift in her chair. “Grey Worm. Assemble five hundred of your best warriors, siege weapons, and horses to escort Lord Willas Tyrell back to his home and help him reclaim it. Should they run into the issue of a siege, have them send a raven back to Dragonstone and I will venture with my dragons to see that the deed is done.” She stood then and he could hear the heels of her boots echo off the stone steps. “Your grandmother came to our aid and allied with us. I will honor that pledge from this day until my final day. Anything else you need, ask,” she said gently. “I ask that you join my Hand and I for supper.”

 

Jon felt a dark cloud settle in his mind. She meant to not come to him that evening, then. Had he hurt her so deeply? Or was this just a courtesy? “Of course, Your Grace,” Willas answered.

 

“Missandei, see to it that Lord Willas has a room in the castle to accommodate him.”

 

“Simply something without climbing stairs will suffice.”

 

Jon was struck by this request, curious about the man in front of them. He would ask Tyrion later. He would have liked to ask Daenerys, but he felt he may have closed the door with his earlier insinuation. He wanted to apologize, but he knew enough about proper etiquette when addressing one’s people to not speak out of turn. He would get the chance to speak to her again, but he didn’t know when. And that troubled him.

 

“Your Grace, Lady Ravella Smallwood of Acorn Hall,” one of the guards announced, Jorah, he assumed. His Northron accent gave him away.

 

“Welcome to Dragonstone, my Lady. How can I help you?”

 

“Your Grace.” Jon heard the shuffle of fabric and could only guess that she had gone into a deep curtsy. “I have come seeking aid. Our keep was overrun by the Lannister forces during the war. Specifically by Ser Gregor Clegane. They burnt anything they could. Nearly destroyed my keep and... took things. Mostly our stores for food.” She paused and Jon noted the stagnant way in which she spoke, as a woman who had seen too much. “Since then, Acorn Hall has not been able to recover. We lack food to feed our people, the ones who stayed at least.”

 

“And how many people reside in Acorn Hall, my lady?” Daenerys’s voice had taken on a gentle timbre.

 

“Two hundred, Your Grace. Mostly elderly-- women and children.”

 

“And the men?” she asked.

 

Lady Ravella took a deep breath but it shook as she exhaled. “Those that didn’t go off to fight during the War of the Five Kings were killed when the Lannisters came through.”

 

“And all you need is food?” Daenerys asked.

 

“We need soldiers, but I know you still have...”

 

“I have soldiers, my lady. Lord Tyrion, I want you to sit down with Lady Ravella and work out the numbers with her--how much food is needed for the winter and how many men will be needed to see it properly protected.”

 

“Of course, Your Grace,” Tyrion answered.

 

Jon listened as she took on the troubles of more and more people, offering ready-made solutions or asking members of her counsel to help her. At no time did she address him.

 

There was a great clatter of many feet emptying from the hall and once he was sure the supplicants had gone, he reached for her arm, managing to grab it before she could walk away.

 

Her guard and counsel stopped as well, and he felt her tense under his touch. “Go, I will be there shortly,” she ordered the others, and they went.

 

He released her and propped his hand on the hilt of his sword, finding the pommel beneath his hand helped calm his nerves. “I wanted to apologize. We were all told that _you_ destroyed Flea Bottom when you and your dragons attacked King’s Landing.”

 

She stepped closer to him and he could feel her breath on his neck. “We can speak on this more, later.”

 

“You’ve already made dinner plans with Willas Tyrell and your Hand,” he said with a bit more heat behind his words than he intended.

 

Her voice hitched as she responded to his bitter words. “To discuss how he would take back his home.” He could almost _feel_ her glaring at him. “I married _you_ , if you’ll recall. I excluded you from the dinner because you’ve already taken two doses back to back. I thought you might want some... time with your vision.”

 

He shook his head and gave her a small smile. “It’s a rather difficult decision: have my sight back to roam about the castle with Grey Worm or be blind and spend the night with you?”

 

Her exhaled laugh was music to his ears. “I’ll leave the decision in your hands. But the potion will be wearing off soon...”

 

He nodded. “I do think there might be an adverse effect to taking it so close together as I can’t seem to get rid of this headache.”

 

She stepped closer to him and brushed her fingers along his jaw. He was startled by the brazennes of it, the possessive nature of the touch, even if they were as alone as they would be in his chamber. “I’ll have Grey Worm escort you back to our room.”

 

He gripped her hands in his and took a deep breath. He placed a kiss on her palm, feeling the softness of her skin against his lips was a balm to his anxious heart. “Have a good evening, Daenerys.”

 

“Jon. Wait here and I’ll fetch Grey Worm.”

 

She didn’t immediately release him, but he let go of her hand and felt the intense loss of her body against his. Grey Worm then appeared in the hall, the sound of his steps almost silent enough for Jon not to hear. “This way,” he said as he turned Jon in the right direction.

 

“Your Queen is an impressive woman,” Jon admitted to the quiet guard.

 

“She is. She’s the Queen we chose.”

 

Jon smiled slightly at that, realizing that she might be the Queen he chose as well.

 

*~*

 

Jon’s sight had come back an hour after he’d laid down. He had asked for a pain draught from the Maester and once he was able to see again, the headache seemed to disperse. That’s how he now found himself in the training yard. He’d been given different clothes to wear, and due to the heat on the island, they had convinced him that to practice in his gambeson and tunic would tire him out too quickly. Instead, they gave him a piece to wear over his sword arm, complete with a plated pieces that fit over his shoulder, but left his chest bare. He could hear murmurs about the scars stretched across his abdomen, but no one said anything to him.

 

He picked up a sword that matched the weight and length of Longclaw as several members of the Unsullied stood to watch Grey Worm spar against the newcomer. Grey Worm, like Jon, wore only his breaches, his helmet, and shield. He kept his spear in his hand and twirled it.

 

“Have you ever fought someone that used a spear, Lord Stark?”

 

“Jon,” he said to the other man. “Call me Jon. And yes. Many of the Freefolk used spears.”

 

“You don’t wish a shield?”

 

“My sword requires two hands,” he responded. Jon squared off against Grey Worm as the ones watching began pounding the butt of their spear against the ground. Grey Worm advanced first, and Jon ducked and rolled to the left. The dark skinned man was there quickly and Jon got his sword up in time to block the blow that was coming. Grey Worm stepped forward again and Jon knocked his spear to the right as his opponent spun the spear back in place, ready for a blow that he evaded.

 

With every jab of the spear, Jon was able to duck or sidestep. When he advanced with his sword, he actually caused Grey Worm to retreat twice. Grey Worm suddenly stopped, allowing Jon to clang his practice sword off his helmet, ringing his head like a bell, then managed to get a shot on the man’s shield and halted at the killing blow to his head. The fight was over as his partner was clearly distracted.

 

Jon, flushed with victory, turned and saw Missandei standing along the breezeway, watching. He glanced back at Grey Worm, completely transfixed by her. She turned her attention away from them. Jon couldn’t clearly make it out, but there looked to be someone tucked into the shadows behind her. Missandei walked toward the stairs, and Jon could make out a petite shadow standing away from the bright sunlight.

 

Missandei entered the training yard and his compatriot, Grey Worm, stared at her the whole while. “Lord Sta--”

 

“Jon,” he corrected before she could completely get it out.

 

“Of course,” she said with a smile. “Her Grace asked me to inform you that she will join you for dessert after her dinner with Lord Willas.”

 

He glanced up at the figure on the breezeway, remembering all too clearly how she said it would be _his choice_ if she joined him after her meal. He supposed it was her right, as queen, to change her mind. He gave Missandei a nod and watched as she smiled at Grey Worm before she joined the shadow on the breezeway. When Missandei was out of sight, Jon turned to his sparring companion, a slight smile on his face. “Distracted?”

 

Grey Worm seemed troubled by this and shook his head. “I knew she had a message.”

 

Jon folded his arms over his chest, smirking. “Before she even walked down the stairs?”.

 

The other man seemed truly distraught and moved to put his equipment back. “Missandei is an advisor to the queen.”

 

“Why does that matter?”

 

He turned to glare at Jon. “I am commander of the Unsullied. I cannot be distracted.”

 

Jon removed the armor from his shoulder before he pulled his light tunic over his head. “Is it that you think she doesn’t want you back?”

 

Grey Worm rounded on him. “She doesn’t. I am Unsullied. Nothing can come from it.”

 

Realization dawned on Jon and he huffed out a breath. He folded his arms over his chest, glancing out at the other men sparring in the yard. “You love her.”

 

Grey Worm hung his helmet up on a stand and put the practice spear on the rack. After a few moments, he looked up at Jon, a frown firmly in place. “You are blind for our queen for part of the day or night. But in the end, you get to be with her, to see her. Your trek to her is easy. There is no path for me to Missandei.”

 

Jon pulled his gambeson back on and they were both silent as they redressed. Jon pulled his sword belt back on, feeling the familiar weight of Longclaw at his side. “There’s always a way...”

 

“Best not give people false hope,” came the voice from the doorway and Jon and Grey Worm both looked up to find the dark-haired guard of the Queen leaning against the wall. “It’s that false hope that can get a man killed.”

 

Jon couldn’t remember his name, exactly, or what it was he did. He didn’t like that the man was obviously sizing him up. Jon wanted to see how good he was with his strange, curved blade. He wanted to see how the foreign weapon fared against a blade like Longclaw. “Forgive me, I don’t remember your name,” Jon offered as peacefully as he could.

 

“Daario Naharis. Leader of the Second Sons in Essos. One of the queen’s guards.” He stepped closer to them and looked over at Grey Worm sadly. “This man doesn’t realize the... limitations that would arise should you become involved with Missandei. He obviously doesn’t know.”

 

Grey Worm looked at Jon, confused, but Jon knew all too well what it meant to be Unsullied. It was rather a joke in the North amongst the soldiers. “I would think it unwise to assume that you know anything about me,” Jon said with a tilt of his head. “Especially about things I do or do not know.”

 

Daario smirked and shook his head. “You’re naive to think that anything could work between them. He’s Unsullied. He lacks a cock.”

 

Jon narrowed his eyes, feeling like his first impression of the man was the correct one. “And you’re sadly misinformed if you think that’s all that matters... or if you believe that’s all there is to it,” Jon said as he tied his hair back once more. “Grey Worm. Care to show me the cliffs? I saw them from my room and I want to get a look.” Jon gave a slight bow of his head. “Daario.”

 

“Lord Stark,” he said as they both passed.

 

Grey Worm escorted him out of the training yard. “If the Second Sons are still in Essos, why is Daario here?” Jon asked.

 

His companion was silent for a moment and spoke softly. “He requested to come with the queen, even after she told him she was leaving him behind.”

 

“Why?”

 

“He loves her, so Missandei says.”

 

Jon stopped walking for a moment and felt something burning in his chest. “Does... does she love him?”

 

Grey Worm shook his head. “I do not know.”

 

Jon thought about this as they walked to the cliffs. He could see the dragons flying out over the ocean and shook his head in wonder. Dragons lived again. He wished he could see her on the back of one, soaring into a battle to defend her people. He was sure it was a spectacular sight to behold. “Jon... I have a question.”

 

“Feel free to ask,” he said as he sat on a rock and watched the two smaller dragons fighting in the air before they dipped into the water again.

 

“What you said... about there being more to it...” Jon glanced up at the man and waited for him to finish asking his question. “What did you mean?”

 

He smiled. “There’s plenty you can do with a woman that doesn’t involve a cock.” Jon looked up at him then. “Sit down, please. It makes me nervous when someone stands over me.”

 

Grey Worm set his spear on the ground and removed his helmet. “You see much for someone who spends a lot of time blind.”

 

“It’s easy to see a man who is in love with a woman.”

 

“Missandei is too good for this world.”

 

“So, you do love her?” Grey Worm nodded and sighed, looking distraught. “It’s not the end of the world.”

 

“I can never give her what she deserves.”

 

Jon scowled and looked away from him. “Everyone would have you believe that the only thing that matters between a man and a woman is what happens in a bed. It’s not true.” He thought about the conversations he had with Daenerys while she fed him dinner, about their short talk in the throne room only a few hours before. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t still make your time in bed count.”

 

Grey Worm frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know what to do.”

 

Jon looked back at him, his eyes going soft. “Does she know how you feel about her?” Grey Worm shook his head. “I’d start with telling her.”

 

“And if she does not feel the same?”

 

“At least you know,” Jon said softly.

 

“And what if she does?”

 

Jon laughed and clapped Grey Worm on the back. “Then you kiss her.”

 

He shook his head. “What if she doesn’t want me to?”

 

“Then you stop,” Jon said adamantly. “My best advice is to go slow. Take your time.”

 

“Take my time doing what?” Grey Worm asked, frustration clearly taking hold.

 

Jon was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation, but he continued for his companion’s sake. “Touch her, _gently_. You’ll be able to tell what she likes by her reaction. Sighs, moans, panting, squirming...” He looked down at his hands. “Taste her skin at her neck, her breasts, whatever she’ll allow you to touch, give it the reverence it deserves.” He tilted his head, thinking about Daenerys and the way she moaned when he dragged his lips towards her hips.

 

Grey Worm watched him with interest as he stared at Jon. “You do all this while blind?”

 

“The thing about being blind is it opens up your other senses. Heightens them. I can hear the hitches in her breath, feel her tremble beneath my touch, taste the salt on her skin...smell her on the air when she walks into a room.” He ran a hand over his face as he watched the largest of the dragons swoop near the two playing over the water. “I don’t _like_ being blind. Hate it, actually. But I agreed to it and this marriage because….” He paused, remembering that he was in the presence of a man that was sworn to his wife. He didn’t know how much Grey Worm would divulge to her, but his reasons, his real reason, would have to come from him and no one else.

 

Grey Worm sat beside him, his back ramrod straight as he stared out at the sea. “What if it is like Daario said...”

 

“If she loves you as you do her, then it won’t matter.”

 

They sat in silence until the sun began to set. Jon was glad to have found yet another friend on Dragonstone, most especially one who shared his habit for stress relief within the training yard.

 

*~*

 

Jon was about to sit down and enjoy the meal in front of him when a knock sounded at the door. He stood and moved toward the bedside table for the potion. “Who is it?”

 

“It’s me,” came an unmistakable voice.

 

“Wait a moment.”

 

“No. Don’t take it yet. I was on my way to dinner,” she said through the door. He moved over to the heavy wood separating them and listened to her shuffle behind it. “I told you I would see how you were before dinner.”

 

He smiled. “Aye, you did. How was the rest of your afternoon?”

 

“Interesting. I didn’t realize you were to train with Grey Worm,” she said softly. “You had mentioned a headache.”

 

He felt stupid talking to her through the door. “Once I got my sight back, it went away. Was that you walking with Missandei?”

 

He heard the smile in her voice this time. “It was. You’re very skilled with your sword.”

 

He pressed his forehead to the door, placing both hands on the wood. “Missandei said you were coming here once dinner was done?”

 

“Yes. I said it was your choice and it still is...”

 

“I choose you,” he said quickly. “If you want to join me.”

 

She huffed out a breath. “I didn’t expect you to be so distracting,” she admitted. “But this is where I want to be. Feeding you mango and speaking with you and then tumbling to bed with you.”

 

“To be fair, last night we used the table,” he teased and she laughed.

 

“That is true.” He heard her nails lightly scratching the wood. “I’ll be back soon.”

 

“And I’ll be here waiting.” He hated how desperate he sounded, but to hear linger at the door made him hope that she was equally stirred by him.

 

*~*

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _What I'm dying to say_  
>  is that I'm crazy for you  
> touch me once and you'll know it's true  
> I never wanted anyone like this  
> it's all brand new  
> you'll feel it in my kiss  
> I'm crazy for you
> 
>  
> 
> So, what do you think? I hope you liked it? Daario is a fuckboy, no? I really enjoyed writing the conversation between Jon and Grey Worm and, of course, all the Jon and Dany stuff. For those of you that will get your panties in a twist about Jon's apparent lack of power, remember that he married a Queen. Will that dynamic change? Well, you'll just have to wait and see.


	6. Great Wide Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One moon since they'd been married and Jon and Daenerys are experiencing the intimacy the comes with being married as well as the tribulations. Jon, also, finally reveals why he married her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the title comes from the song "Great Wide Open" from 30 Seconds to Mars. Some of the lyrics are below.
> 
> Thank you to justwanderingneverlost for the gorgeous new mood board. She's the best! She just offered it up as a gift!! ;)
> 
> And to my beta for this chapter, meisie! She was so generous to do this for me last night and read it twice to make my smut better and fix some of the phrasings. She's one of my favorite people and I bow down to her skills in the writing and smut department! You are the best and I love you! Thank you for all you bring to the fandom and the tons of laughs and support you bring to my life every day!

 

_Is this life?_  
_That we're living_  
_Say the prayers of a thousand tongues_  
_Is this love?_  
_Some new beginning_  
_Or a night of our wildest dreams_  
  
_Into the great wide open_  
_Across a land of blood and dreams_  
_I will save your heart from breaking_  
_Won't you stop, please_  
_Set me free_  


 

“It’s been a moon since we’ve been married,” Jon muttered.

 

She had thought he was asleep as she had pulled on her robe to go back to her empty chamber. It was still dark in _their_ chamber, the curtains pulled to keep out the light as long as possible so she could stay. She moved back to the bed at the sound of his voice,  and into his arms. Daenerys knew the time of keeping him blind was drawing to a close.

 

That month hadn’t been without its trials and tribulations. Jon questioned her reasons for keeping him blind often, and the longer it went on the angrier he got when they discussed it. She’d noticed that he’d also become suspicious of what she did when she left him in the morning. She hated that he seemed hurt by it. “Should we celebrate?” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

 

He placed a kiss on top of her head. “Mmm, that would require you to stay.”

 

She placed a kiss at the hollow of his throat and slid her leg over his hips to straddle his waist. “We still have time,” she whispered against his lips. She found it so easy to get lost in the feel of his lips against hers and his touch, and she never felt as at peace as when he was inside her. She felt like a whole being and not just a half searching for its missing piece. His hands worked at the tie of her robe and once it was open, they moved over her hips and bottom, gripping her tightly, causing her to groan in response.

 

She could barely make out his shadow beneath her and felt relatively safe that if the potion had worn off he still couldn’t see her. His hand moved from squeezing her bottom to guiding himself inside her. She relished the feel of his length seated completely and remained still, trying to remind herself to breathe. He had the ability to make her feel like her heart had stopped. She was at a loss of what to do with him. The simple solution was to let him see her, to stop making him blind.

 

She was still uneasy at the prospect. They hardly knew each other beyond a nightly indulgence of all the senses other than sight, food and wine and the pleasures of the flesh. What if she wasn’t what he wanted? What if he found her lacking? What if he didn’t...love her? It broke her heart to even consider the tragedy she’d set herself up to experience. She traced over his chest and felt his hand at her hip, guiding her. “Jon,” she whispered.

 

He pulled her down against him and rolled her to her back. She wrapped her arms and legs around him as his lips found hers. The pounding of his cock inside her made her legs feel weak and her body shook helplessly, with only a few thrusts she was undone. She clung to him tighter and moaned as he buried himself to the hilt inside her and hid his face in her neck, growling with his release.

 

He went to move off her, but she held him in place. “Not yet,” she whispered. He propped up on his elbows as his lips traced the line of her jaw then trailed to her panting mouth.

 

She gripped his hair in her fist and stroked her toes over his calf. “Stay with me a while longer,” he said huskily. He was so wonderful like this, soft and vulnerable and tugging at her wary heart. Too wonderful to resist easily.

 

“I know you get headaches if you take an extra dose,” she responded after a moment. She didn’t want to leave. “I don’t want you in pain.”

 

“Then don’t make me take one,” he responded, and she felt the mood that had been weaved from being together wrapped in each other’s flesh dying. This was happening more often than she liked. He moved off her and sat on the edge of the bed. She sat up and re-tied her robe, hoping they weren’t going to have the same fight.

 

She climbed from the bed and looked at his shadowy form, his shoulders hunched, his head hanging. He was frustrated and she could see it in his stance, even in the gloom. “Jon,” she started but his voice interrupted her. His eyes were to the floor, in case he could see her, still respecting her wish though he resented it.

 

“I don’t want to fight with you. Not today. So, just go about your day, Your Grace.”

 

She touched his hair and he leaned into it, which gave her a small sense of peace. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

 

“Dinner,” he agreed. She walked to the door and closed it behind her, fighting off tears. She was a coward when it came to Jon. She’d fought enemies on the battlefield, negotiated with hostiles, and faced down the destruction a mad queen had done to her city but the thought of having the man she had fallen in love with seeing her, really _seeing_ her, caused her to retreat.

 

Her guard followed her down the hall and she walked into her cold and empty room. Once the door was closed behind her, she buried her face in her pillow and allowed the tears to finally fall.

 

*~*

 

Jon walked down to the beach, Grey Worm beside him. Over the past month, The two had formed what Jon would consider a friendship, though the stoic man at his side was still his guard and meant to keep him out of the castle.

 

“Why the beach?” Grey Worm asked finally. Instead of touring the city or even the Dothraki camps, Jon had insisted they go to the beach.

 

“Daario seems to pop up wherever we are. I’d rather not have to explain to the queen why I killed one of her advisors,” he said as they walked along the shore.

 

Grey Worm furrowed his brow at this statement as they kept walking. Jon felt that the mood needed to be lightened and decided on his favorite topic to make the normally stoic guard uncomfortable. “Any progress with Missandei?”

 

“Progress?”

 

“Yes. Have you kissed her, told her you loved her?”

 

Grey Worm rolled his eyes at this. “You take too much pleasure in these conversations.”

 

Jon smiled, looking up at the cliffs above them, able to see a giant tail hanging over the side. He’d seen the dragons from afar, not daring to get too close without Daenerys. But then he wasn’t allowed to see _her_. His bit of good humor was ruined. If it was a matter of trust, he questioned how she could still not trust him, especially since he was madly in love with her.

 

That’s where the anger came from. He loved her and she still kept him in the dark. He couldn’t believe that she felt nothing for him. And if that was the case, then perhaps he didn’t know her as he thought.

 

Jon noticed that the rock of the cliffs had changed and he came across the opening of a cave. There was an unlit brazier outside and he looked at the large opening. “Is this a mine?”

 

Grey Worm nodded and looked up at it as well. “Lord Tyrion said it was...glass. Dragonglass,” he said, more certain about the second name.

 

Jon stepped forward, feeling his heart stop. He entered the mouth of the cave and could see the glittering rock along the walls. This was it. This made everything worth it. A cave of the very thing they needed to kill wights and White Walkers was on this island the entire time. He hesitated to ask his next question. “Is the mine depleted?”

 

Grey Worm shook his head. “No. Lord Tyrion said that it had been abandoned when the island was.”

 

Jon took a deep breath and left the cave, Grey Worm following behind him as he was practically running back to the keep. “I need to speak to the Queen. I’m going to the Maester as I need to send a raven,” he said, racing up the sands but Grey Worm managed to get in front of him.

 

“I have to find the Queen first! You can’t go running through the castle...”

 

Jon felt all of his emotions well up at once. “We both know I can best you in a sword fight, and I need to see this through. Get out of my way.”

 

“And I’ve not yet had to fight you _for_ my Queen. Don’t make me,” he asserted just as fiercely, a hand on Jon’s chest. “Let me check with the guards to find out where she is in the keep.”

 

They continued up the stairs and the Unsullied commander left him waiting in an anteroom. Jon shifted edgily from one foot to another, anxious to send Robb a raven to tell him what he’d found. Grey Worm returned after some time and ushered him to follow. “She is in her war room. I’ve sent a guard to tell her you need an immediate audience.”

 

Once he’d given his grudging thanks, Jon took off with impatient steps. He found the Maester sitting behind his desk in his quarters and the man stood immediately. “Your Grace,” he said as he lowered his head.

 

“I need to send a raven immediately.”

 

*~*

 

Daenerys raced to their room and found Grey Worm standing outside. “He’s already taken a dose, Your Grace.”

 

 _What has gotten into you, Jon?_ As she thought this, she opened the door and found him pacing a small length of floor in front of their bed. But the look on his face wasn’t angry, it seemed almost hopeful. “Jon? Are you alright? What’s happened?”

 

He stopped pacing and held his hand out to her, which she took. His chest rose and fell quickly and his pulse jumped in his throat. She didn’t know what to think about his reaction and certainly didn’t know what was happening. “I never told you why I agreed to this marriage. Why I stayed.”

 

She was taken aback by the subject, confused as to where he was going. “No. You said you would tell me when you trusted me more.”

 

He nodded and reached out his other hand to find a chair. He urged her to sit down and he did the same in the one opposite. “My...men killed me because I allowed the Wildlings through the Wall. And I did that because of the danger that is on the other side.”

 

She felt like he was speaking in riddles and her frustration was mounting. “Jon, you have to make more sense.”

 

He heaved a sigh and squeezed her hand tighter. “What do you know of White Walkers? The army of the dead?”

 

“A nightmare fairy tale? This is what was so urgent?” She asked, unable to keep her frustration out of her tone.

 

She stood, but he held tight to her hand. “It’s real. They’re all real. I’ve fought them. I’ve lost brothers to them.” He tugged on her hand, trying to get her closer, but her hackles were still raised. “The Night King and his army will consume every living thing they encounter. They’re marching to the Wall and they _will_ find a way over it and then...none of this will matter.”

 

She tugged her hand free and tried to keep her disbelief from her tone. Jon had never been one to spout nonsense. “So, you agreed to marry me because?”

 

“You have armies, you have dragons, and on this island, which I discovered only a short time ago, you have dragonglass.”

 

“Dragonglass? What does that matter?”

 

“There are only two things that can kill wights: fire and dragonglass. I’ve already sent a raven to my brother telling him of the cave here on the island and that we could potentially have the weapons we need to fight them.”

 

She stepped back from him, needing to distance herself physically and emotionally. “You sent a raven to your brother without telling me?”

 

Jon seemed surprised by her statement and he stood. “You’re not listening! We’ve been looking for a way to fight them for years and it’s here! It’s been here all along!” She moved further away and tried to control her temper. He’d given his brother strategic information about her island, he was spilling nonsense about a fairytale, and he was doing it all with a straight face. Daenerys swallowed the lump in her throat, wondering if she even knew him at all. “You don’t believe me,” he said flatly, and it pained her to hear the hurt in his voice. “Then why are we doing this?!”

 

She allowed her anger to finally come to the surface. “I don’t know what to believe! You’re not a raving madman or a child telling me a story. You’re a man I care for deeply and you’re telling me something completely unbelievable!”

 

“Because it’s true! And the _Mother of Dragons_ should find it a great deal easier to believe me than anyone else I could ever tell!”

 

She lowered her head and looked at her hands. “What do you want from me?” She snapped.

 

He heaved a defeated sigh and shook his head. “Faith. From my _wife_.” She looked away and frowned, folding her arms over her chest, trying to protect herself from his words that were able to cut her so deep. “But seeing as I can’t have that, let me mine the glass and forge weapons to send to Robb.”

 

“Arm my enemy?”

 

If Jon had his sight, she knew the look would have been a glare. His handsome face creased with a dozen furrows. “See it however you want. But when the dead come, you’ll wish you hadn’t behaved this way.”

 

She walked to the door. “Enjoy your evening.”

 

“That’s it?” His voice was harsh and it felt like he’d hither with it. “You don’t believe me so you’ll dismiss what I’m saying? Have I lied to you or given you a reason to distrust me? I’ve done _everything_ you’ve asked of me since I arrived. I continue with this stupid practice of keeping me blind every night to appease you! To what point or purpose is it if you don’t believe me when I tell you something?”

 

She crossed the room again to stand in front of him. “What do you want? To leave? Return to your frozen wasteland?”

 

“No! I want to find a way to protect our people! And we can do that with dragonglass!”

 

“ _Our people?_ You mean all the people of Westeros, or the North and your _brother’s_ people?”

 

She didn’t know why she was baiting him further. They were both angry and hurt and she knew she was making it worse. “You want them to be the same. Then prove it! Give your consent.”

 

She went back to the door. “I have other things to concern myself with than some fantasy you think you saw beyond the Wall,” she said as she stormed from the room and back to her council meeting.

 

Tyrion was the only one in the room when she returned and the surprised look on his face showed he hadn’t been expecting her. His surprise shifted to concern as he could see how upset she was. She knew she was shaking and that her face was red. “Your Grace? Are you alright?”

 

She walked to the table beside him and held out an empty glass to him. He poured wine into it and she gulped it down, feeling the bitterness of it slide down her throat, holding it out once more for him to refill. He did, though there was a hesitancy there now. She finished it in a few quick swallows and extended it again, only this time he didn’t pour. “What happened?” He questioned.

 

“My _husband_.”

 

“Yes, you were told by Grey Worm that there was something pressing. Is the king well?”

 

“He’s mad!”

 

Tyrion furrowed his brow and tilted his head, like the words she’d spoken didn’t make sense. “Jon Stark?”

 

“That is my husband.”

 

He pursed his lips, his brows knit in confusion. “Perhaps you should elaborate.”

 

“He claims there are White Walkers and an Army of the Dead. He wants permission to mine the dragonglass cave.” Instead of agreeing with her, he remained silent. “Say something.”

 

“What would you have me say?” He asked softly.

 

“That this is nonsense.”

 

Tyrion shook his head. “Jon isn’t the sort of person to tell lies or be involved in deceit. If he was, he would have already looked at you.”

 

“Don’t tell me you believe him!”

 

He wrinkled his nose and took a deep breath. “It might be easier to brush it aside if it wasn’t something I heard once before.”

 

Daenerys felt her body sag into a chair and she stared at him. “What?”

 

“When I visited the Wall all those years ago, the men of the Night’s Watch were talking about an issue with something other than the Wildlings. They even sent a dead hand into King’s Landing to supposedly show us that they were real.” He took a moment and looked at her in concern. “Lord Commander Jeor Mormont sent it.”

 

“Jorah’s father?” She sighed and rubbed her temples. “I thought this was a fairytale to frighten children.”

 

“A lot of our myths and fairy tales are based on real things, Your Grace.” He paced in front of her and stopped suddenly, something occurring to him. “Why does Jon want dragonglass?”

 

“He said that it can kill them. He wants to mine it, forge weapons, and send them to his brother. He sent a raven to the _King in the North_ to tell him of our mine.”

 

Tyrion climbed into the chair beside her and stared at the fire. “He shouldn’t have done that, strategically speaking. But marrying Jon sealed an alliance between the two of you, so you shouldn’t worry about an attack.” He leaned against the arm of his chair and she felt the fight draining out of her. She still didn’t believe in the White Walkers or the army, but then she knew Jon was not a madman or a liar. She trusted him as much as she could after so little time together and a lifetime of learning the hard way not to trust anyone. There was no way for him to know that, with the defensive way she’d reacted today. “Let him mine the glass.”

 

“What? Why?” She questioned. “You believe him?”

 

“I don’t want to. But...who is there to really say that he’s not telling the truth? Jeor Mormont believed it. Jon believes it. Perhaps we should examine that.”

 

She tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair and stared into the fire. “Fine. He can mine the glass. Tell him.”

 

Tyrion smiled wryly then and shook his head. “No, there are a lot of things I’ll do for you, Your Grace, but I will not be the go-between for you and your husband.”

 

“Not even if I threaten to feed you to Drogon?”

 

Tyrion winced. “Is that what you’re doing?”

 

She huffed out a breath, rolled her eyes, and stood. “No.” She took a moment to collect her thoughts and looked around the empty room. “Where did you send everyone?”

 

“Away for the evening. I thought you were gone for the night since it has been a moon since you and Jon wed and he called for you so urgently.” He gave her a smile. “Go, be with your husband.”

 

“I’m the Queen. I give orders.”

 

He smiled and nodded. “Then order yourself to swallow your pride and speak with the man you love.”

 

Daenerys glared at him. “I never said I loved him.”

 

Tyrion chuckled and sipped his wine. “You never said you _didn’t_. Good night, Your Grace.”

 

Daenerys didn’t know how she felt about being dismissed by Tyrion, however, she didn’t want to stand around and debate it but, instead, be with Jon. They’d made plans to spend time with one another that night and she feared she might have ruined it. _They_ had ruined it. _It takes two to fight_ , she reminded herself.

 

She posted her guards at the ends of the hallway and entered their room to find him seated in the chair in front of the fire. Daenerys sat in the chair opposite him. The heavy silence between them nearly choked her. She hated it. Since they’d been married, talking to one another had come easily. Now, though, she questioned what she thought she knew. She hated that her faith in him, in _them_ , had been so easily shaken.

 

“I’ll allow you to mine the dragonglass and forge weapons from it,” she said finally.

 

She watched him swallow thickly and turn his head in her direction. “Thank you.”

 

She felt on the edge of falling apart, hating the chasm that seemed to exist between them, now. “What now?” She asked softly.

 

He shook his head and heaved a heavy sigh. “Fucked if I know,” he grumbled. “You don’t trust me. That much is certain. I’m...not sure I trust you, either.”

 

She turned back to the fire. “That’s the confusing part, Jon. I _do_ trust you. I don’t know what you saw beyond the Wall, but you believe that what you’re saying is true, and that leaves me concerned.”

 

“That’s rather condescending. You _trust me_ but you don’t think you _believe me_?” He shook his head. “You don’t trust me. This,” he said pointing at his eyes, “is evidence that you don’t trust me. But then, I have to ask why I trust you? You’ve not given me real reasons other than playing on the affection I have for you.”

 

The anger was back, and now it was mixed with confusion and a soul-deep hurt. “What does that mean?”

 

“Why is Daario here?” The question caught her off guard.

 

“He’s one of my advisors,” she answered, unsure why he looked even more disgusted with her. “Why?”

 

“ _Former_ lover?”

 

She stood then, wanting to slap him for his insinuation. “You think I would betray you?”

 

“You married me for an alliance—”

 

“You think so little of me?” She interrupted, trying to keep the hurt from her voice but failing miserably. “Daario and I were together in the past, but he means _nothing_ to me. I told him to stay in Meereen.”

 

“Yet, he's here. He disobeyed his queen.”

 

She blinked back the tears and shook her head. “And if I sent him away, would that be proof enough? Would that show you that I’m not taking him into my bed? How long until you believed it about some other man? Do you think so little of me that you would assume I am nothing but a beautiful whore like all the rest of them?”

 

She could see his shoulders hunch and she wanted away from him. She moved past his chair, but his hand snaked out and captured her wrist. She tried to pull away, but he was on his feet and backing her toward the wall. “You’re _my_ wife.”

 

“Are you certain? You seem to believe I’m capable of great treachery. Perhaps that is a great lie,” she snapped even as her back hit the wall. She was overwhelmed by his presence, looming over her. His dark hair was undone from its usual band, his unruly curls standing out around his head in a tangle. The candlelight in the room cast long shadows over his face, the deep creases of his brow making him appear older. His hand moved across her body and found the chain draped across her chest. He unlatched it at her hip, the shoulder. The metal made an eerie sound as it echoed off the stone.

 

“I'm not fighting with you anymore,” he responded as he unlaced the back of her dress. “You’re mine until the sun rises, if nothing else,” he whispered, then moved away from her parted lips. Jon tugged on her dress, and up until now, she’d been transfixed by the sad yet determined look on his face. She pushed her sleeves over her arms, cupped his face in her hands, and brought his ripe mouth to hers, hoping she could convey her warring emotions through it. Doubt, fear, anger, sadness...hope, desire, love.

 

They worked together to rid her of her dress, her boots, and her leathers until she was pressed against the cold stone wall by the length of his body. She shivered at the contrast, the heat of his hands and mouth distracting her. She broke the kiss and pushed his jerkin aside as she worked on the laces of his leathers, moaning as he kissed, licked, and sucked along her neck. Any rational thought was gone when he scraped his teeth over her pulse, her eyes closing with a moan as she thumped her head against the wall. His fingers traced over her nipple then pinched. Her toes curled as his lips closed over the tight bud. She was unable to do anything but moan and clench her hands in his hair, his hand busy between her thighs, working her clit until she was ready to take him.

 

Her breath hitched as he lifted her against the wall. She wrapped her legs around him and reached between them to stroke his cock, heavy between them. She angled her hips and felt enormous relief when he brushed against her dripping slit. He grunted her name as he was engulfed fully inside her. She loved how he made her feel whole yet falling apart. He slipped an arm beneath one of her thighs, adjusting her weight and the angle of his strokes. She wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing his lips back to hers. His movements were slow and hard, each one causing her to mewl in desperate pleasure.

 

She broke the kiss and pressed her brow against his, finding it nearly impossible to catch her breath. The scent of him, the strong grip he had on her, and the grunts he made with each thrust had her head swimming. She could feel herself approaching that cliff, the one he was so capable of pushing her over. “Dany,” he whispered. He licked his lips and moved deep in her in a slow, torturous circle, that one action causing her to stiffen, her toes to curl, and she was then shaking as she fell over the edge.

 

“Jon! My Jon,” she moaned. She didn’t care how abraded by the stone her back was, she didn’t care how he had marked her neck possessively, she didn’t care about his ridiculous accusations or his proclamation that there was a dead army coming for them all and that he had wed her in hope of getting her help to defeat it. All that mattered was what was growing between them, stunted in the darkness but creeping towards the light. This was real, and this was painful and beautiful all at once.

 

And it terrified her.

 

*~*

 

Jon buried his face in her neck, tightening his grip on her as he spilled his seed inside her. Her possessive use of his name had sent him spiraling into the abyss with her. He felt weak in the knees but maintained his grip on her. He hated the hold she had on him. He hated that it felt like he was being lied to. He hated that he felt so insecure in their relationship. Much of that could be chalked up to the jibes Daario was constantly throwing at him. The other was his own belief that he didn’t deserve her.

 

She stroked her fingers through his hair, scratching against his scalp. He slowly set her back on her feet, unsure what had possessed him to back her into the wall and take her. She didn’t seem angry, though. If anything, he took it as a good sign that she was undressing him, even ordering him to kick off his boots.

 

Her soft hand looped through his, and she tugged him behind her to the bed. He curled up with her, wondering how long he had until she escaped. He wouldn’t stop touching her until then. She didn’t believe him. He should have expected that. It felt like a rejection of him and what they had. She had to know, by now at least, that he wouldn’t lie to her. And if she didn’t, that broke his heart. “So, what now?” He asked, his fingers tracing the curve of her hip.

 

“You’ll mine the dragonglass with whatever resources you need at your disposal...”

 

“And you’ll still keep me blind to you?” He felt her stiffen beside him. His heart ached. How could she still be so unsure of him? “What do I need to do? What act could I perform to convince you?”

 

She shook her head, then moved to drape her body half on his. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t know that...that you can do anything.”

 

He took a deep breath and took a leap. “Then can you at least admit that part of our fight tonight was that you’re afraid of this? You and I?” She was silent and he felt her tremble against him. “I can admit it. When you suggest that you don’t trust me, it makes me angry and hurt. I know you now, the touch of you, your scent, your warmth. How could I see you and not want you for who you are?”

 

She nodded. “I admit it. This terrifies me. I’m plagued by doubts. They’re my own and there’s nothing you can do to fix them—“

 

“Does that mean I’m to remain blind until you figure out what to do about them?” He couldn’t help the irritation in his tone.

 

She shook her head. “No. That...could take entirely too long.” He huffed out a frustrated breath and felt her fingers moving along his jaw. “I’ll compromise,” she whispered. “No matter what, by the next moon, you’ll stop the potion.”

 

He felt like he could breathe, knowing there was an end in sight, so-to-speak. He rolled to his side, facing her. “You mean it?”

 

“Yes. For better or worse...you’ll finally see me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are hints in this chapter that there is more going on than is being seen. I hope you continue on this journey with me.


	7. It's A Beautiful Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things rarely ever work out the way you planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I want to give a huge shoutout to FrostBitePanda for doing the beta job on this story. She's been battling getting sick and she toughed it out and made this chapter better. 
> 
> Second, thank you to justwanderingneverlost for the gorgeous mood board. I always think "There's no way she can outdo the last one" and she always proves me wrong. 
> 
> Third, I'm sorry it's taken so long to update this story. It takes a lot out of me to write this and Catch Us Where We Sleep because I expend a great deal of anxiety wondering what the reaction will be. I started this chapter a while ago, but I ditched everything I originally had and started it over from scratch. I kept nothing from that original chapter. I also scrapped my entire outline for the last couple of chapters of this fic. It was hard to do because I liked my original idea, but it's for the best. I like the idea I came up with much better. 
> 
> Fourth, if you don't like this chapter, well, I'm sorry. Hit the back button and move on with your life. 
> 
> Fifth, thank you to my dear friends who have stood beside me for over a year, now. You're all amazing women and I'm so lucky to know each of you. 
> 
> Last, the song title is from "It's a Beautiful Lie" by 30 Seconds to Mars.

 

The excavation of the cave was going well. More and more carts of dragonglass were being filled and rolled out of the mouth of the cave. Blacksmiths from all over had been called in to help and Jon had actually made friends with one of the younger men from King’s Landing. Gendry Waters had complimented his sword and recognized it as Valyrian steel, even without it having been removed from the scabbard. He had mentioned meeting his father once, in his master’s shop. Jon always liked hearing stories from others about his father. 

 

Grey Worm stayed near him, as usual, though Jon had managed to get his companion to relax the more they got to know one another. He was the closest thing Jon had to a friend on the island, after all. He certainly enjoyed ribbing the stoic soldier about his feelings for the queen’s advisor, Missandei. But then, Jon didn’t think he could tease Grey Worm too much, considering the fact that he was in love with a woman he’d never seen. 

 

He’d kissed her, touched her, could almost smell her on the wind sometimes, found his release inside her nightly, but had never looked upon her face. Such a silly concept at this point. Even if she was a hideous troll covered in boils (which he knew she wasn’t) she still owned his heart. 

 

That thought made him happy and miserable all at once. 

 

A few of the workers began to get into a tussle and Jon stepped forward to try to stop it, but Grey Worm put a hand on his chest and stepped between the two men. Jon let him intervene on his behalf, but he heard a familiar, yet unwelcome, voice from behind him. “So, this is where you’re spending your days, now? Not in the training yard showing off your skill with a sword?”

 

Jon heaved a sigh and turned to face him. “You found me. Congratulations. Run along and fetch a prize.”

 

Daario smirked. “I don’t think you’d like the prize I would receive,  _ Your Grace _ .” Jon turned back to resume his duties while doing everything he could to not punch the other man in the face. “Does that bother you? Surely you can’t think that our queen would be so easily satisfied with one man?”

 

Jon’s pulse jumped beneath his chest and his hand tightened on the pommel of his sword. He gritted his teeth, swallowing down his rebuke. He did not want to give Daario the satisfaction.  

 

“What? Nothing to say?” Daario continued.

 

Jon finally turned to look at him. The smug smile on Daario’s face caused his jaw to clench. She had assured him that she hadn’t had anyone else in her bed. He wanted to believe her, that Daario was simply trying to rile him up. “The only thing I have to say to you is that it obviously bothers  _ you _ she’s in  _ my  _ bed as you’re seeking me out, not the other way around.” 

 

He turned his back to his unwanted visitor before he could respond, and watched as the squabble settled and Grey Worm continued to talk to them, to ensure that the workers weren’t going to start fighting again. 

 

“Just remember,  _ Your Grace _ , no matter how much you mark her as yours, she’ll never fully belong to you,” Daario said and turned to leave. Jon watched him go, fury bubbling beneath the surface. He unlaced his sword belt and hauberk and grabbed a pickaxe. 

 

Grey Worm watched him in confusion. Jon took a swing at the wall, sending a spray of rock to the ground. “Why you do this, Your Grace?”

 

“To keep from killing a man,” he muttered before he took another swing, feeling some of his anger lessen as the pickaxe connected with the wall.

 

“We could spar,” Grey Worm offered. Jon ignored him and continued hacking away at the wall, feeling a sense of accomplishment when the vein he was working produced large shards of dragonglass. He could do this until exhaustion took him or until he could erase the idea from his mind that his wife was being unfaithful. Whichever came first. 

 

*~*

 

Daenerys stood at the window looking out at the ocean as her councilors gave her reports. Missandei told her of more people from King’s Landing taking up residence in the city. There was now a lively market of tailors and leather workers lining a few of the streets. Merchants, though without as much room to navigate as they had in King’s Landing, were getting more booths set up as more ships arrived to bring goods into the city. This pleased her. The ruin of King’s Landing and all of those people had left her grieving as she had when she’d lost her husband and child.  She couldn’t shake the feeling that she had allowed so many people to be hurt and their lives destroyed. The destruction of King’s Landing was a guilt that she carried around, unable to shake the responsibility she felt to the people who had been hurt, lost everything, and those that had died. Tyrion had finally told her that she could not carry the weight of another woman’s madness around her throat. 

 

But to hear that her little makeshift city on Dragonstone was thriving gave her great hope. She turned to her advisors and to the map of the city that was spread across her desk. “Do we have enough room for all that could be here?”

 

“To house the population of King’s Landing?” Tyrion shook his head. “Not even close.”

 

“Then let’s expand the city. More houses, more shops, cleaner streets,” she said as she called everyone over to show them where she wanted to add these things. It would keep the people far enough away from the main Dothraki encampment but would help with the eventual overflow. “If you find that there are those that are homeless, we need a sanctuary for them to rest.”

 

“Where do you propose this sanctuary to be, Your Grace?” Varys questioned.

 

She examined the map and finally settled on where the Sept had once stood. “Here. Let’s build something that can house them, feed them. Men, women, and children. No one will go without a roof over their head in my city unless that is their choice,” she said softly. “But we will also help them find work. See if they have a skill. This city, I hope, will be a beacon to the world of what it means when people work together instead of squabbling like rats over scraps.”

 

Tyrion smiled. “Breaking the wheel.”

 

Her eyes met his and she could see that he was pleased.  As much as she didn’t feel like she needed his approval, she always felt accomplished and hopeful when she did. 

 

They were all interrupted by a knock at the door and she bid them to enter. The maester shuffled inside and handed her the scroll with the Stark direwolf on it.  

 

_ Your Grace, _

 

_ Thank you for your willingness to work together. My brother informs me that you are to allow the dragonglass to be mined. This is a gift I do not know that I could ever repay. As I’m sure Jon has told you, the threat beyond the Wall from the Army of the Dead is one of which we will have to come together to face. My _ _ brother goes on at length about the virtue of your campaign, the timelessness of you and your advisors to ensure the refugees of Kings Landing are protected and cared for. This can only aid in my conviction that you may just be the North’s greatest gift in the fight against the Dead. _

 

_ King Robb Stark _

_ King in the North _

 

Jon had been conversing with his brother without telling her. She wanted to be angry with him about it. She handed the scroll to Tyrion who read it aloud to the room. She watched their faces, Jorah appearing almost proud. Missandei and Varys had unreadable expressions, while Tyrion’s voice grew concerned at the mention of the Army of the Dead. Daario looked skeptical. But then, he usually was in whatever capacity where it concerned Jon. She was growing tired of the man constantly trying to undermine her husband and her relationship.

 

“Another mention of the Army of the Dead,” Missandei said softly. “Do you think that it’s actually true?”

 

Daenerys shared a look with Tyrion and he took a deep breath. “Considering that the men who have made mention it are all honorable, I fear it might be.”

 

Daario rolled his eyes and scoffed. “A fairytale. It’s obvious this is another attempt to make the queen look foolish. If you send your troops North, to fight against what most people consider to be nothing more than a story, then you lose credibility with the other lords in this land.”

 

“And if they’re real?” Jorah asked. “From Lord Tyrion’s account of his time in King’s Landing, my own father believe this. I hadn’t seen the man in years... too long, but my father was no a raving madman. He was the best man I ever knew, and if he believed this, then I find I do as well.”

 

“The king believes it, as well,” Varys reminded. “As you told us, Your Grace, he was the one to bring this to your attention. Grey Worm said he’d never seen the man move as quickly as when he found the Dragonglass cave. And he’s spent every day in it since. I believe most of us in this room can agree that Jon Snow is a lot of things, but he’s not a raving madman either.”

 

Tyrion nodded. “Whatever they saw beyond the Wall has three of the most honest men I know doing everything they can to prepare for a war.”

 

“Couldn’t it be that they’re simply preparing for a war against our queen?” Daario asked.

 

“To what point or purpose?” Tyrion asked, his tone clipped. “Robb Stark knows he can not defeat our queen. Instead, he sends his beloved brother to marry her to forge an alliance. Not fight. Not negotiate. An alliance.” He shook his head. “The King in the North has been through quite an ordeal to take back his home. I don’t think he would risk the brother that helped him do it if this was all for an eventual battle that he knows he can’t win.

 

“And while we’re on the subject of Jon Stark,” Tyrion continued, “he’s had more than one opportunity to betray us. He has not done so, correct?” he asked, looking at Daenerys who shook her head. “I believe the Starks have proven that we should give them just a slight bit of credit for being exactly what people have said of them.  _ Honorable to a fault _ .”

 

A knock sounded on the door and they all looked up to find Grey Worm. He bowed to her and Daenerys watched his eyes immediately found Missandei. 

 

“Just in time,” Tyrion greeted. “You spend as much time with Jon Snow--Stark, as anyone. Would you say he’s mad?”

 

Grey Worm furrowed his brow and shook his head. “No. I have seen madness. The king is a good man.”

 

“Why do you say that?” Missandei asked.

 

Her general looked to her and, his eyes and his mouth downturned. “The King spend his time among the people. Since mining began, he spend all day in the caves helping the others. Before, we walk the city and he help in stacking crates and played with the children. The King is good man who cares about the people.”

 

“And does he ever speak of the Army of the Dead?” Daenerys asked.

 

At this Grey Worm sighed and nodded. “I am a soldier. I do not feel fear when I fight. The King is a fierce warrior and has beaten me in every contest. But when he speaks of the Army of the Dead and the Night King, there is fear. A true fear,” he finished softly. 

 

Daenerys nodded and looked at Tyrion. “Raven to Castle Black at once.” She looked at Grey Worm, “Anything else to report?”

 

“The blacksmiths are working to make weapons from the dragonglass. The king asked one of smiths if he could make  _ arakhs _ out of the dragonglass. He seemed eager to try.”

 

Jorah gave her a small smile. “He’s not only looking to arm the North, Khaleesi, but he’s also looking to arm your armies as well.”

 

She watched as Daario opened his mouth to argue, but she held up her hand. “Write to Castle Black. Ask their current Lord Commander about the situation. Have him tell you what resources they need to strengthen the Wall and what he can tell us of the Army of the Dead.” She fought a smile and gave a final nod, “Very well. As the hour is growing late, I’ll excuse all of you to enjoy your evening. Grey Worm, where is my husband?”

 

“In your chambers, Your Grace.”

 

She took the scroll from Robb Stark with her as she left the room, flanked by an Unsullied guard on each side. She walked down the hall with a purpose, anxious to lay eyes on her husband. She rapped on the door with her familiar knock and heard him groan from behind the door, then bid her enter.

 

She came in to find him shirtless and boots off. She smiled as she closed and latched the door behind her. As she removed her own boots, she watched as he rolled his shoulder and brought his fingers up to rub over it. She quickly walked to the bed. “Are you hurt?”

 

He shook his head. “A bit sore. Not used to swinging a pickaxe I suppose.”

 

She sat beside him, her fingers lighting over his skin. “Why were you swinging a pickaxe?” 

 

“Helping out in the mine,” he replied and she tutted at him. “I’m capable of helping.”

 

“Capable? Yes. But you shouldn’t,” she said as she moved to her knees beside him and rubbed over his shoulder, finding the muscle beneath tense. “If we need more workers in the mine, you only need tell me,” she whispered as her fingers massaged the area. She made a decision and stood from the bed. “Take off your clothes and lay on your stomach.”

 

He turned his head toward her, a small smile on his face. “That seems counterproductive.”

 

She shook her head and came back from the ensuite with a vial of oil. “Oh, we’ll get to that later. I’m going to tend to your shoulder.”

 

He shook his head but she watched him undo his laces and strip out of his clothes. “You really don’t have to do that.”

 

She ran a hand through his curls. “It’s my right as your wife to fuss over you. Let me,” she said softly. He captured her hand in his and placed a kiss on her palm. She cupped his cheek. “On the bed, husband.”

 

He turned and lay on his stomach. She put the oil on the table beside the bed as she stripped down to naught but her silk shift and hiked up her skirt to straddle his bare bottom. She smiled to herself as she thought about appreciating that part of him more, later. Her husband was so excellently put together. She didn’t fall for pretty faces, but her husband was the most comely man she had ever seen. Daenerys reached for the bottle of oil she’d placed beside the bed and poured a bit into her hands and then onto his back and rubbed her hands together.

 

She gripped both shoulders firmly and drug her fingers down his back until they met at his spine. Tracing over the line of muscle at his shoulder, he groaned as she found a hardened spot near where he had been rubbing. She applied pressure to the spot, working her thumbs in a circular motion until she felt it finally relax. 

 

“Talk to me,” he grunted. “Distract me, please.”

 

She smiled at the desperation she heard in his tone. “I received a raven from your brother, today.” His whole body tensed at that, obviously recalling the fight they’d had about this very subject. “Relax, Jon. I’m trying to work the tenseness out of your muscles, not make my job harder.”

 

“Then I take it from your good mood that it contained good things?” he asked, his voice hopeful and her heart swelled with it. 

 

“More worrying talk about the Army of the Dead. But he did thank me for allowing the dragonglass to be mined and said that it seemed your faith in me wasn’t unwarranted.” She moved lower over his back, smiling as she received another groan from him. “I do wonder what it is you’ve been telling your brother about me.”

 

“The truth,” he replied. “You’re a queen who cares about the people of her kingdom, allowed us to mine the dragonglass, even if you have doubts about what we’re telling you. That you’ve been kind to me.”

 

She blushed and slid her hands up along his back again and rested at his shoulders as she leaned over him and whispered in his ear. “I hope I’ve been more than  _ kind _ .”

 

His dark chuckle sent a shock of lightning through her system. “ _ More _ than kind, Your Grace. But I thought it inappropriate to put my actual thoughts on paper. Our time together is ours, and I’d not share that even  with my brother.”

 

She smiled against his skin, pleased that he would keep their private time secret. That it was only for the two of them to know of what they do and how they shared their bed. She didn’t know many men who would be so discrete. She placed a kiss to his skin and moved to sit on the back of his thighs as her hands traced over the small of his back, finding several knots beneath the skin and used the heel of her hands to work them away, receiving grateful groans in response. “If this is what I get for working in the mine, I think I could do it every day.”

 

She smacked his plump bottom playfully, finding it firm beneath her touch. “My naughty husband,” she hummed. She smoothed her hands over the curves of his ass, noticing the dimples when he tensed beneath her fingers. “How are you so perfectly made?”

 

He scoffed. “I’m not.”

 

“Oh, but you are. From the top of your curly head down to your feet,” she reached behind her and tickled the sole of his foot which he twitched away from beneath her fingers. “It doesn’t matter at which angle I look upon you, it’s all perfect. The view I have, now, is spectacular.”

 

“It’s imbalanced. I can’t say how perfect you are to see. Only that every touch of you feels like you were perfectly made to fit me,” he answered.

 

She removed her shift and bid him to turn over, ignoring that he was still oily and would surely stain the sheets. When he had rolled to his back, she moved to straddle his hips, her knees pressing into his sides, trapping his erection between them. “What do you mean ‘perfectly made’?”

 

He slid his hands up her waist and along her rib cage as he sat up, touching her so lightly she knew she would go mad with it if he didn’t give her more. He brought them higher, palming her breasts. “They fit in my hands. Like they were made for my touch, alone.” She gasped as he took one of her nipples into his mouth and he groaned. “And your taste. It’s everything I could ever dream to have. The sweetest thing I’ve ever had the pleasure to put in my mouth. And that includes my new favorite fruit.”

 

She chuckled. “That means a lot given how much I know you love mangoes.”

 

He hummed around her nipple and she dropped her head back and closed her eyes, lost to the feel of his mouth and hands working her over. He scraped his teeth over the nub then released her only to trail his hands over her waist, hips, and settled on her bottom. “This...” he groaned, “this I imagine to be a work of art.” He grasped her in both hands and she wriggled around on his lap, getting friction against her dripping slit from his hard length pressed against her. “I have dreams about what this looks like tucked beneath a dress or in your trousers. I admit that a part of me imagines what it would be like, when I see you, to bend you over a table to look at you. To let my eyes see what only my hands have been gifted.”

 

She moaned and pressed her temple against his brow, letting the low grumble of his words work her as much as her thrusts against him. “And this, my queen,” he said softly, nearly growling into her ear as his fingers moved to her cunt, his thumb tracing the wet seam of her, “this could never be described with any words I have to do it justice.” She shivered in his arms as his thumb traced around her clit. “Your scent, your taste, the way you hold me inside you...it’s as if I was made for you, and you were made for me.”

 

Unable to withstand the torture any longer, she brought his mouth to hers and took his cock in hand. He growled into her mouth and she slid him inside her. She broke the kiss to gasp, her eyes closed as she clung to his shoulders and began riding him. Jon’s hands slid over her thighs, hips, and back to her breasts. He brought one tip to his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and sucked, before releasing her to nip at the soft skin beneath her breast. He then did the same to the other side, even as she sped up her strokes. She pushed him to his back, pressing her hands to the bed beside his head as she began to ride him harder and faster. His hips met each thrust with one of his own. 

 

This man had completely crumbled her walls and she relished every second of it. She was soaked in the heat of skin against skin, everywhere their bodies touched, she felt it in her nerves and it seeped into her the marrow of her bones. She was his, and while that thought terrified her, she thrilled that knowing  _ he _ was hers in turn. 

 

He was moving harder, faster and her breath caught as she felt her body cresting higher and higher until the touch of his fingers on her clit had her falling, crying out his name, nearly unable to hold herself up. He pulled her down into a kiss and she went willingly, giving over to him completely. 

 

A few more thrusts and her husband gripped her tighter, holding her hips against him as he spilled his seed inside her. They lay together, in a tangle of limbs, sated and oily. She pressed kisses to his chest and along his throat. “How are you feeling, now?”

 

“I don’t think I can move, but I’ve honestly never felt better,” he said with a smile.

 

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I don’t want you to move. Let’s stay just like this forever.”

 

He grew silent, but his arms wrapped around her, holding her to him tight. 

 

*~*

 

She awoke to the feel of her husband’s breath against her neck and his arm around her waist. She hated the thought that she would have to move and disturb him. She gently lifted his arm from around her climbed from the bed. She could still smell the oil she’d used the night before and smiled, knowing that Jon would smell of it, too. 

 

As she tugged on her robe, she heard his voice from behind her, thick with sleep, “Did I mark you up?”

 

He didn’t have his eyes open, so she wasn’t sure if the potion was still in effect. She looked down at her chest, noticing whisker burns and the hint of a love bite just above her nipple. She smiled at him. “No more than usual.” She moved onto the bed beside him, trailing her hand over his torso and to his lips. She dropped a heated kiss on his mouth and he cupped the back of her head, holding her to him. She snuggled into him for a moment, taking the tiny indulgence of his smell and touch. His embrace was loose, though, and she leaned away to look at him. She was just able to make out his features-- which betrayed nothing. She felt unsettled, a queer weight in her chest that set her on edge, but she opted to ignore it, for now. “I like it, though.”

 

A grunt was her only response as his hand squeezed her hip. She hated when he went into what Tyrion called his ‘brooding period’. She sat up and looked at him for a moment, laying silent and motionless in their rumpled bed. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something simply...off. That this was more than a simple pensive moment. She placed one last kiss on his lips and sat up. “Are you alright?” she asked and he nodded. His silence irked her. “Truly?”

 

He nodded again, reaching out and finding her hand. “I’m fine. I’m sure you have a lot to do today and Grey Worm wanted me to train with him in the yard.”

 

She took a deep breath and leaned down to press another kiss to his lips, softer than the one before. “Be careful. And don’t hurt your shoulder even though I did thoroughly enjoy giving you a massage.”

 

Relief flooded her as she saw a ghost of a smile. “I rather enjoyed that myself. I give you my word, though. I’ll be careful. Off with you,” he said with one last kiss to her lips. 

 

She stood and cast a look at the bed, his arm was thrown over his brow, his lips turned down in a frown.  Her heart grew heavy in her chest at the sight, but she did not know what else to do if he would not let her help, let her in. It was a blunt, small betrayal, but a wound just the same. She turned and opened the door. 

 

Her guard went with her down the hall to her room and posted outside the heavy door. She didn’t know what was plaguing her husband, but she didn’t want to think that he was unhappy. She assumed that it was that he couldn’t see her, placed all her hope that was the only problem. She didn’t want to dwell on the thought that he might be unhappy with her, that he wished to return home, or that he wanted any of this to end. She stripped off her robe and climbed into her bed, wanting to sleep for a little while longer before she started her day. 

 

*~*

 

Jon knocked the spear from Grey Worm's hand and caught it, pointing both his sword and the spear at his sparring partner. He could feel sweat dripping down his back, his chest heaving. He was starting to find it harder and harder to best the captain of the Unsullied. After a moment, Jon handed the spear back to him and they both moved to the water skins they’d left for after their sparring. 

 

“What is it like beyond the Wall?” Grey Worm asked.

 

Jon leaned his hip against the wall as they watched some of the younger men of the Dothraki duel. He took a deep breath. He thought that he was well used to the cold when he had left Winterfell. Little did he know how wrong he would be proven to be. “I don’t know that I can actually describe it. It looks... beautiful. Everything is untouched and covered in snow. There’s nothing green to find. Just white and grey.” He hung his head. “It’s a cold you can’t erase from your mind. You feel it into the marrow of your bones. Everything hurts.”

 

Grey Worm handed the water skin over to him and frowned. “It sound like desert in Essos, only hot. So hot that you feel as if your skin will peel off and melt into the sand. People go mad in .”

 

Jon smirked as he thought of Tormund. “The cold can make you go mad, too. Make you feel helpless and hopeless.”

 

“And you say there is army beyond this wall? One of dead things?”

 

Jon nodded and heaved sigh. “Believe me, I wish I was lying.”

 

“See, I think you are lying,” Daario’s voice cut across their conversation. “I think you’re trying to convince our queen to continue to let the North be free while we arm them with weapons so they can eventually attack us.”

 

Jon instinctively gripped the pommel of his practice sword as the other man walked closer. Daario was so sure of himself, so  _ confident _ , and he wanted nothing more than to put his face in the dirt. “Then it’s good you have no decision making power around here, isn’t it?”

 

Daario smirked. “I’m still on the queen’s council. I still attend court. She still listens to my opinions. Does she do that for you? I can only recall you being in court once.”

 

“He is the king,” Grey Worm answered. “Your loyalty to the queen should extend to him.”

 

“It doesn’t,” Daario responded flatly. “I promised my sword and my life for her. Not him. He wasn’t part of the bargain.”

 

“That’s it?” Jon asked, his lip curling in distaste at the childishness of Daario’s game. “This is some jealousy-fueled tirade of a man who has been kept from his prize?”

 

Daario gave him a smile that made him sick. “Come, let’s see how you fair against me.”

 

The other man grabbed one of the wooden  _ arakhs _ and moved into the center of the yard. An assortment of Dothraki, Unsullied, and Westerosi men gathered around to see, anticipating a good fight. Jon took one last pull from the waterskin and Grey Worm muttered to him softly, “He doesn’t fight fair.”

 

Jon gave the skin back to him with a look. He would be harder on Daario than he would ever consider being on any other person he would spar with. Jon had never held back in his battles with his friend, but he also never employed every tactic he had in his arsenal. He’d mastered the art of the Westerosi knightly spar, but he’d learned a thing or two from his time with the Wildlings, who had not the time nor the luxury of fighting ‘pretty’ as Ygritte had called it. 

 

Before Jon even had his feet settled, Daario attacked, swinging his weapon at his head. Jon ducked and spun away, and slapped him across the back with his blade. “Dead,” Jon declared. 

 

Daario allowed him to get settled this time before swinging the  _ arakh _ above his head. He came at Jon with more finesse this time, momentarily taking Jon off guard. He had taken Daario for a brute, but he was far more graceful than that. Regardless, Jon had Daario retreating after a few parries. Daario tried to loop his weapon behind Jon’s leg, but Jon leapt to the side, spun behind him, and when Daario turned around, Jon knocked his weapon away and his sword was pointed at his throat. “Dead.”

 

He felt elation, having dealt some of the same humiliation that Daario had been serving him since he had arrived. This time, Jon was determined to put him in the dirt. 

 

Jon approached slowly, Daario meeting each strike of the blade as they both advanced and retreated. A parry to the left, had Daario open on his right, which Jon used to his advantage as he spun, ducking under Daario’s arcing attack. He kicked out his leg, sweeping Daario from his feet and onto his back. He kicked the weapon from his hand and held his sword at Daario’s throat. “Dead,” he growled before he walked away and took the water skin from Grey Worm, who was poorly hiding a smile. 

 

Daario picked himself up, looking as surly as ever as some of the Dothraki spoke amongst themselves and the men all laughed. 

 

Jorah had joined them to watch and was smiling as well. Jon looked at him and frowned. “What did they say?”

 

“They said that the khaleesi saw that Daario was weak and found herself a stronger khal,” he said with a smug smile. Jon took notice that not even the older knight cared for the sellsword. “Come, Grey Worm, I fancy a duel against a spear and I trust no one more than you.”

 

Grey Worm lifted his sparring spear and joined Jorah. Daario stormed off with one last glare at Jon. He felt a great sense of satisfaction roll through him, glad to have shut the sellsword up for the moment. But there was a strange sense of shame that came with it, hating that he allowed the other man to get under his skin. But all insinuations from the other man only made Jon’s physical victory over him all the more satisfying, and so he pushed away the shame and basked in his excitement. 

 

*~*

 

“I must say, that was rather entertaining,” Tyrion said in the silence of the walkway. “I do love to see a smug man put in his place.”

 

They had stopped at the window to watch Jon’s spar Daario. Internally she was cheering for Jon. When he triumphed she was elated for him. At the same time, however, it troubled her that Daario had obviously provoked the fight. 

 

She remained silent as they walked to the Painted Table and took a seat behind her desk, Tyrion and Missandei each taking one of the chairs in front of the hearth.    
  


“Do you think I should let him into my council? Permanently?”

 

Tyrion’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his mop of golden curls. “Is he not already  _ in  _ your council? I assume that you do talk about the events of your day while you’re together.”

 

“I do. But I wonder if it should be made in an official capacity.”

 

“He’s your king. You’re welcome to do with him as you like,” the man said with a cheeky smile. 

 

Daenerys rolled her eyes, ignoring him and looked to her friend. “A little common sense and a little less childish humor.”

 

Missandei gave Tyrion a half smile and turned back to her. “I suppose that depends on what you want in a king. Do you want him purely as your consort or do you want him to be more of an equal? And if you bring him into your council, will this be before or after you stop making him take the potion?”

 

“Two weeks until that firm date,” she said as she looked down at her hands. She felt conflicted as she knew she would feel a great deal of relief once that day arrived. But there was a tiny budding fear that everything would crumble down around her. She knew that part of her was irrational, but still, that voice in her head taunted her that nothing was going to be as she wanted. 

They were interrupted, by Varys who bowed to her as he handed over a scroll. The Tyrell Rose seal adorned it and she heaved a sigh. “Good news or bad?”

 

“When do we ever get good news?” Tyrion quipped as he walked to the drink caddy and poured himself some wine. 

 

She read over the note, then closed her eyes in thought. “We have to go to Highgarden.”

 

“ _ We _ ?” Tyrion questioned. 

 

“There’s more than they initially thought. They’ve put up battlements,” she said as she tapped the scroll against her hand. She stood to take the wine goblet out of Tyrion’s hand. “I want you and Jorah to ride with the Dothraki.”

 

“The entire army?” he questioned.

 

“No. Half. We’ll leave the other half here with the Unsullied,” she said as she heaved a sigh. “Daario, Missandei, Varys, and Grey Worm will all stay.” She turned to Missandei and tilted her head. “I’ll leave my husband in charge.”

 

Tyrion cleared his throat. “Only a moment ago, you were debating whether to let him sit on your council, now you’re going to allow him to rule in your stead while you’re at war?”

 

“Is there a reason any of you can give me not to trust him?” Everyone was silent, including Tyrion. She nodded. “He won’t be allowed to send my armies anywhere,” she amended, “but I trust him. Summon Jorah, Daario, and Grey Worm. We’ll tell them our plans. And then I’ll inform my husband tonight after we’ve worked out the details.”

 

One of her guards left to relay her message. She looked at Missandei and sighed. “You will watch over him?” she whispered.

 

“With both eyes, Your Grace,” she assured her. 

 

Dany nodded. “Tyrion, I’ll want you to leave tonight, so no drinking until you have a tent set up.”

 

“And when will you join us on the road?”

 

“Tomorrow. I’ll be bringing all three of my sons”

 

“Why all three?” he questioned. 

 

“If I’m going to make men abandon a keep, I need a point of leverage. Everyone remembers Harrenhal. Let’s hope they don’t want a repeat.”

 

“Would you really burn Highgarden?” he asked, alarmed.

 

“Not unless I have no other choice,” she said tiredly as she sat in front of the fire once more. “I learned the hard way what happens when I fly into a city on a dragon.”

 

“I doubt Highgarden has caches of Wildfire hidden it beneath it.”

 

She looked at Varys. “Find out for sure,” she said to the Spider, who bowed and left the room.

 

*~*

 

Everyone filed out of the room with the exception of Daario. She tried to ignore him, writing back to Willas Tyrell that she would come to his aid and handed the scroll off to the waiting maester. She finally looked over to him as he stared at the table. “You’ve lingered for a reason.”

 

He nodded. “I have. Let me go with you instead of Jorah.”

 

She shook her head. “No. The Dothraki know and trust him more. I need him by my side.”

 

“I’ve promised my sword and my life to protect you.”

 

She nodded and heaved a sigh. “You have. But I’ll be with my dragons, the Dothraki, and Jorah would lay his life on the line for mine... as he has many times. I will be safe. I need you to stay here and keep my home safe.”

 

He looked at the Painted Table, pointedly avoiding her gaze. “You mean keep your husband safe, don’t you?”

 

“I don’t, actually. From what I saw today, he’s fully capable of protecting himself.” Daario winced, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw. She watched as his hand tightened around the pommel of one of his precious knives--the wanton, lethal women that she used to think were beautiful and unique, just like him. But they were just an artifice, as much as the man who carried them. 

 

She stood from her chair and came to stand next to him, ensuring that her words would sink in and he would protest no further. “I don’t understand your reaction. I told you before we left Essos that what you and I had was over. I even ordered you to stay there, yet you insisted that you be allowed to come with me and protect me. Now tell me, ser, what use do I have of a general that disobeys every order? Or of a man that is no longer permitted in my bed?”

 

He huffed out a frustrated breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t trust him.”

  
“I do,” she said finally.

 

“Do you? Why are you still making him take the potion? If you trust him as you say, why?”

 

Dany steeled herself, standing straighter and gritting her teeth, feeling heat rise from her feet and through the rest of her body. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Daario Naharis. You have no need to know the workings of my heart. If you cannot bear that I am wed, set sail on the morrow for I have no use for petty jealous men at my side.”

 

“I want to be here! I want to be by your side!”

 

“I am married--”

 

“As a form of alliance!”

 

She clenched her hands at her sides, already tired of the conversation, but now angry for being questioned as if she, in some way, owed  _ him _ something. “What does it matter? For love or for the glory of my house, you have no place in my bed and you have no place in my heart. Now, enough of this, be gone from my sight or I will have Ser Jorah bring me your head.”

 

He hung his head, face crumbling. “Do you love him?”

 

She straightened and folded her hands in front of her. “Yes.” He looked at the Painted Table once more, face impassive. She cleared her throat, feeling anxious that he may finally understand. “I leave tomorrow. Respect my choice,” she said before she turned and left the room.

 

*~*

 

She had paced the length of the castle twice in order to settle her growing ire before she returned to the room with the Painted Table and found it empty, thankfully. She answered some correspondence from a few lords and ladies of Westeros and found a stack of drawings from the children of the orphanage. She smiled as she looked over each one, finding that just looking at them made her happy. 

 

Her thoughts turned her toward her husband and his mercurial moods. She never knew what she would walk in to. Sometimes he was happy, playful. Other times he was broody and even cross with her. Those were the times he would usually prod her about where she’d been or what she’d been doing. His tone was always accusatory and she  _ hated _ it. She had told him the truth, had told him that he was the only one to share her bed. He had seemed comforted, but the skepticism seemed to have seeped back in. Jon still didn’t trust her completely, yet, because he still felt that she didn’t fully trust  _ him _ . 

 

She pushed those thoughts from her mind, determined to have a good evening with her husband in their marriage bed. By the time she would return from Highgarden, it would be past their agreed upon date. It was both stressful and a relief at the same time. Relief continued to mount the more she thought on it. This was a burden hanging between them that kept them apart. 

 

She knocked on the door and heard him bid her enter. She found him seated in front of the fire, looking grim.  _ Bad mood it is _ , she thought to herself. 

 

“How is your shoulder?”

 

“Fine,” he answered, his voice clipped. “How was your day?”

 

“Eventful. I’ll be leaving for Highgarden tomorrow. Tyrion and Jorah are moving out with the Dothraki tonight and I’ll join th--”

 

“Not taking Daario?” he interrupted.   
  


She closed her eyes, not wanting to engage in this foolishness one more time. “No. Tyrion and Jorah will suffice.” She took the chair beside him and held his hand in hers. “While I’m gone, I’ve advised my council that you will be ruling in my stead.”

 

He scoffed. “What do you want from me?”

 

She released his hand, confused. A horrible feeling of dread crept through her nerves and settled in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t know what was happening or why he seemed so angry at this declaration. Would he not be… happy? That she trusted him enough to tend to her home while she may be away? 

 

She felt her own hackles rise. She shifted in her seat to ease some of the nerves. “What do you mean?”

 

“I don’t understand what you want from me. Do you want me to be your bed warmer? A consort? Or am I to be your king? It’s hard to tell with the way things always seem to be shifting.”

 

She shook her head then stared at the fire. “We can’t speak of this now, Jon. I just want to enjoy your company before I leave--”

 

“Why aren’t you taking Daario?”

 

She stood and walked away from him, her back to him as she tried to rein in her temper. Her hands were in fists on her hips, her nails digging into her hands. “Why  _ would _ I take him with me?”

 

“Tell me again,  _ why _ is he here?” Jon asked as he stood, letting the top of the chair guide him in his blinded state. “Your words don’t ring true. You told him to stay in Essos, yet he’s here. He disobeyed his queen. Isn’t that something that should require punishment?”

 

She whirled around and stepped closer. He doubted her. She lashed out against it. “He disobeyed his queen, yes, but he had amended that single error tenfold during his service to me. It was  _ my _ choice--”

 

“You smell like him,” he whispered. “Did you know that?”

 

How could he think this? Why? She hadn’t given him any indication that she wasn’t happy with their relationship. Oh, why was she such a fool? If only he could see the full measure of her heart. Why would he suspect that she would seek out anyone else? “I had a meeting with my council.”

 

“Everyone has a scent, Your Grace. I know Grey Worm, Missandei, Tyrion, which smells mostly like wine, and Daario. You came into our room smelling like  _ him _ . No one  _ but _ him.”

 

She remembered putting a calming hand on Daario’s arm. “I am not being unfaithful to you.” He shook his head and she watched pain pass over his features. She wanted to shake him to make him  _ see _ . “Jon...” she said as she put a hand on his and he captured her by the wrist and closed his eyes. 

 

“The smell is strongest here,” he said softly.

 

“Has he been telling you we’re still intimate? Tell me the truth.”

 

His white eyes stared back at her, his face inscrutable. “Have  _ you _ told me the truth?” 

 

He seemed so resolute, so convinced that he was right, she felt her heart ache with the helplessness of it. She fought off tears, refusing to let them fall or make their way into her voice, but she felt the need to release her fear. She had given her heart to him, unwittingly, and she felt like he was all too able to break it.  

 

“I wish you good fortune in the wars to come,” he said icily as he went to sit once more. Her breath caught at being dismissed as if she meant nothing more to him than some servant who had spilled wine on him. 

 

She tried to find something to say, unwilling to simply let this be how they left one another. The lump in her throat nearly suffocated her as she tried desperately fix this. “I thought... we would spend the night together. It could be weeks before I return.”

 

He cleared his throat and kept his face turned away from her. “It’s been a long day and I’m sore from the training yard. I won’t be of much use to you,” he said softly.

 

“Have I not given you a reason to think that I want more from you than my bed warmer?” Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it in her temples, her ears growing hot. “I listen to your counsel, I’ve allowed the dragonglass to be mined, even when I didn’t believe you. I ask your opinion on a range of subjects, each one helping to make the kingdom better. Yet you doubt me?” His silence drew on longer and it caused her hands to shake. She ached to reach out and touch him, to make him see the truth of it.

 

A thought occurred to her, yet she hesitated to give it voice. 

 

“Would you believe me if... you could look upon my face?” her voice was small, afraid of what his answer might be.

 

He tilted his head toward her, his voice soft, yet even she could hear the emotion in it. “I don’t know.”

 

She swallowed down her anger, her dread, and clenched her fists at her side. “If you were truly blind, if the Gods took your sight from you, are you telling me you would never be able to trust me? That my word is not enough?”

 

He was quiet too long and with a final gasp, she fled. Her feet couldn’t carry her fast enough. Her heart throbbed in a dreadful warning call, her temper rumbled beneath the surface, wanting to shake him, wanting to kiss him until he could doubt no more, wanting to... 

 

She burst into her room, her lungs not cooperating as she paced and paced. Finally, she flung open the door and ordered one of her guards to summon Missandei. She needed the comfort of her closest friend.

 

*~*

 

After a sleepless night, Jon had a headache that didn’t ease even when his sight came back. 

 

He had sat in the chair, staring at the fire for most of the night. His mind had been strangely blank, his thoughts muddled and muddied. He had dared not focus on any one speculation for too long, afraid that it would only serve to fan a useless, destructive fire into roaring life.

 

He dressed for the day, strapping his sword to his hip and took a deep breath as he opened the door to his chamber. His guards weren’t by the door and Grey Worm hadn’t come to fetch him. She must have already left. 

 

Since he was free of anyone hounding his every step, he went exploring, going down corridors he wasn’t permitted to before. He would make his way to the room with the Painted Table that Grey Worm had told him about. 

 

He stopped short, ducking back around the corner. He watched Daario exit a room, tying his sword belt around his waist as he went the opposite direction. 

 

Jon walked further down the hall and stood outside the door Daario had come out of. It had the Targaryen sigil emblazoned on it. 

 

His stomach dropped as he pushed gently on the door, hoping it was Daario’s empty bedroom. He took a tentative step inside, finding clothes scattered on the floor and a woman in the bed. Her white-blonde hair shined in the light of the morning, her soft skin looked like porcelain. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he realized that he was staring at the sleeping form of his wife. 

 

His gasp was unintentional but her eyes popped open and she sat up in the bed, her top-half bare as she looked startled. She reached for the sheet and covered herself as her eyes hardened at him. 

 

The part of him that had desperately been clinging to the hope that she was being honest died a fiery death in his heart. There was a part of him that wanted to drink in its fill of her, take in every curve and piece of pale skin. Another part wanted to fight the entire wight army just to get away from her. 

 

Another knife to the heart. Betrayed once more, and this time he didn’t think he’d ever recover.  


	8. Chapter 8 - Ashes and Embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany have to deal with the impact of him seeing her for the first time and the betrayal they both feel. Grey Worm is suspicious. Grave news from the North takes Jon home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so HUGE thanks to FrostBitePanda and Justwanderingneverlost for their help and beta work on this chapter. Also, thanks go to JW for the beautiful mood board she made. 
> 
> For the love of all that's holy, please do not give me lectures or dissertations on why Daario shouldn't have been there. I've heard ALL of it by now. If you don't like it, hit the back button and save us all a headache. Why are you reading a fic you don't like?
> 
> Anyway, to the rest of you, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

“What...” she started through clenched teeth. She had expected him to maybe look contrite that he’d broken his word. Had he been looking for her? Why?

  


She could hear the clang of metal and suddenly her guards were in her room and she took a deep breath even as he still stared daggers at her.  _ Why does he get to be angry!? He burst in on  _ me _! He broke his promise! _

  


She steeled herself as their eyes bore into one another. “Take him to the throne room. Summon Daario, Missandei, Varys, and Grey Worm. Now.”

  


Jon left the room without allowing them to manhandle him and when the door was finally closed, she put her head in her hands, confused and angry. She didn’t know what would bring him to do what he did. He’d kept his word for so long. In two weeks it would have all been over.

  


_ Why couldn’t you wait, Jon? _

  


*~*

  


She truly was beautiful. 

  


Certainly, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Her hair the color of the snow, her eyes that of an early spring sky, full lips and curvy figure. 

  


Even as her eyes flashed with anger and disappointment colored her face. “You broke your vow,” she finally declared, her head held high, hands folded in front of her. She certainly had the posture of a queen. 

  


“I think of all the people in this room, you shouldn't speak about breaking vows.”

  


Her eyes narrowed at him and he felt a sense of satisfaction knowing that he’d made her angry.  _ Good _ . He hoped she felt even an ounce of what he felt at that moment. 

  


“You broke your word and I’m torn with what to do with you.”

  


“To do with me? You seem to like people who break their vows to you. Keep them in your council.”

  


He saw her fingers clench in her lap, but still, she stared him in the eye. The problem with these royals is that lying was second nature. Of course, she could look him in the eye and lie. She didn’t get to where she was by not using deceit. How had she acquired the Unsullied army? Was it not through giving her word and then backing out of it? The rational part of his brain screamed that was unfair, but he couldn’t erase the fact that she had lied then. That she could lie now. 

  


“Have you nothing to say for yourself? No defense for what you did?”

  


“No. Have you?” 

  


She clenched her jaw and Daario spoke: “Perhaps, Your Grace, some time in the dungeons would teach him proper respect.”

  


“Quiet,” she rebuked harshly, but still she never looked away from Jon. 

  


She took a deep breath, seemingly conflicted. If she threw him in the cells for breaking  _ his  _ vow he would certainly lose his barely capped temper. When she spoke, her voice was controlled, hiding the anger she so clearly felt. “I made a vow to your brother for an alliance. I will continue to honor that vow as I am a woman of my word–”

  


Jon scoffed. “Are you?”

  


*~*

  


_ What has gotten into you, Jon? _ Her anger was so close to the edge that she contemplated for a moment about following through with Daario’s suggestion and throwing him into the cells, at the very least to teach him how to speak to his queen.

  


_ His queen _ . 

  


She didn’t know if she wanted to be anything to him any longer. Not only did he break his vow, but he actively accused her of breaking hers. She couldn’t look at him any longer and focused on the doors behind him. “What would you have me do?” she asked.

  


“My queen, I have been away from my home and my  _ family _ for too long.”

 

She felt it like an ice-tipped arrow to the heart. She could hardly bear to look at him. But what did she care, now? He thought her a liar, had betrayed her only desire, watching him leave would be a pleasure. “As you wish,  _ husband _ .” The last word was sodden with disdain. She had not the strength to soften the blow, as he seemed to not have the care to listen. She couldn’t mind him now anyway. Highgarden needed her attention. She would wrangle out her maddening husband later.

  


“Grey Worm, see him to our...  _ his _ rooms to collect his things and see him onto his ship.” Grey Worm gave her a nod, stepped down from the platform and gestured to the doors. She took one last look at him, watched him storm from the hall in anger. 

  


She stood and marched to her war room. She turned to find that Daario and Missandei had followed her, Varys obviously knew better. “Out, Daario!  _ Out! _ ” He left quickly and Missandei closed the door behind him. 

  


She leaned against the Painted Table, trying to hold herself up as heartbreak and grief overrode her anger. The soft touch on her wrist caused her to turn and find Missandei at her side and she finally allowed the tears to fall. Her friend embraced her. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” she said softly.

  


She didn’t know how long she cried, but it felt like she would never stop. Her heart was broken. She thought that if he had shown some remorse, was sorry for what he’d done, she would have forgiven him in time, would have tried to be understanding... but he was so defiant and disrespectful. How could he do this? 

  


She finally pulled away from Missandei and wiped at her eyes. She moved to the large open window and shook her head, allowing the ocean breeze to distract her from her misery for a moment. Her friend stayed just behind her. “I thought you were going to talk to him this morning before you left.”

  


Daenerys nodded. “I was. But I woke up and he was in my room, staring at me as if I had hit him.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know he even knew where my room was.”

  


“I can’t believe your guards didn’t stop him,” Missandei said disbelievingly. 

  


She folded her hands in front of her, finding that part to be confusing as well. They knew better than to allow Jon into her private chamber. Knowing her husband as she did, he probably pushed straight past them. But that didn’t make sense, either. Her head hurt from thinking about it. Her heart hurt to remember that look in his dark eyes. Even in her dreams, she hadn’t been able to decipher what color she thought his eyes would be but never had she imagined that deep rich brown, almost black.

  


She turned from the window and took a steadying breath. “I’m leaving to meet Tyrion and Jorah on the road.”

  


Missandei nodded. “Be careful, Your Grace.”

  


“I trust you to keep all of this in order. Hopefully, I’ll be back in a few weeks.”

  


Missandei nodded. “No doubt you’ll be successful.”

  


She swallowed the lump in her throat, thinking that she was able to win battles, wars even. But she couldn’t win the heart and trust of her husband. 

  


*~*

  


Jon tucked his things away in his trunk and his rucksack, ready to be rid of this place. He heard the screech of the dragons and went to the window to watch her small form walking toward the great beasts. She pet each one, nuzzling them as they surrounded her. It was with a bit of awe that he watched her mount the great black one and one after the other, they jumped from the cliff and soared into the air. 

  


Any hope of having her help in their fight against the dead had been dashed. But even more, his hopes that she had been telling the truth crumbled before him. Except for a small, nagging voice at the back of his mind that called into question what he knew. He tried to silence it, realizing something was off, but couldn’t put his finger on _ what _ . 

  


Grey Worm remained silent as he stood at the door, staring at him with disappointment. Hurt. Grey Worm had become one of his closest...  _ friends _ . He respected the man and his abilities with a spear, his desire to learn and get better, and his obvious love and respect for Daenerys and Missandei. 

  


When he was done packing, Grey Worm had Jon’s two guards carry the trunk as he hefted his satchel. They walked to the beach in silence and he noticed there was no work being done in the mine and shook his head, realizing the queen had ceased the production of the weapons. A boat was rowing to shore from one of the Queen’s ships out at sea. Jon looked at Grey Worm, who was still staring at him. “I’m surprised you haven’t killed me.”

  


Grey Worm’s expression changed to a scowl. “Should I?”

  


He shook his head. “Don’t much care for the thought of dying. Or the act, itself,” he mumbled. 

  


“Why were you in her room?” he asked after a few moments of silence, his voice impatient.

  


“Confirming something,” he said lowly.

  


“What?”

  


Jon barely managed to force the word between his teeth, “Daario.”

  


Grey Worm huffed out a breath. “Daario wasn’t with the queen.”

  


“Yes, he was. I saw him coming out of her room.”

  


Grey Worm shook his head, seemingly confused by this information. “No. Missandei spent night in her room. I know because she was called by the queen last night. Did not return until we were summoned to the hall.”

  


Jon frowned, taking this in. “The queen was naked in her bed...”

  


“She sleeps naked. Everyone knows that,” he replied. “People sleep naked in Essos. The heat will boil you. Missandei say she sat beside the queen while she slept, upset because you fight. She left when sun rose. Daario was not there.”

  


“I know what I saw,” he said, but his doubt was growing louder. 

  


They were both silent for a moment before Grey Worm spoke again. “Why did her guard let you in?”

  


Jon stopped breathing for a moment and realized that they weren’t at her door, nor had his been at  _ his _ door. “They weren’t there. Neither were mine. And you hadn’t come for me.”

  


Grey Worm cast a look back at the castle and shook his head. “I was told not to.”

  


“Told by who?”

  


“Missandei.”

  


Jon scowled at that. “Why would she tell you that?” The boat finally reached shore. The soldier seemed to be rolling things around in his head and Jon felt his own thoughts warring inside. Something was off. He just couldn’t pinpoint what it was. It was a tingling feeling in the back of his mind, unable to piece it all together. “I know you’re loyal to your queen and you would never betray her trust, but as far as you know, has she been sleeping with Daario?”

  


Grey Worm rolled his eyes. “I told you, no! Why do you think this about the queen?”

  


“Because he’s been telling me differently,” he said through gritted teeth.

  


Grey Worm glanced up at the castle. “That is why you didn’t want to be around him.”

  


“Yes,” Jon answered. “Every time he talked to me he would tell me how she would call for him each morning after she left me. How she was left unfulfilled and he had...”

  


Grey Worm held up his hand. “None of that is true. The queen would leave and go sleep. I know this because I would take Missandei to her each morning on my way to you. She was always alone.  _ Always _ .” Grey Worm tilted his head and frowned. “Step into the boat.”

  


“What?”

  


“Step into the boat. I was told to see you board the boat.” Jon raised an eyebrow and climbed into the small boat and then Grey Worm bid him to step out and sent the little dinghy back to sea. “I did my duty.”

  


“I don’t understand.”

  


Grey Worm lifted one side of his clothes trunk by the leather handle and waited. Jon got the message, though he was very confused, and they both made their way to the abandoned Dragonglass cave. “You will stay here. No one think to look here.”

  


“What are you talking about?”

  


“You and the queen have been tricked. Give me time to fix it.”

  


“You can’t fix all that was wrong with us...”

  


“Then think of all that was right. You love her. I know. You love her like I... love Missandei. Let me help you.”

  


“Why?” Jon questioned as he folded his arms over his chest, certain that there was nothing he could do or say that would change his mind.

  


“My queen has been wronged and you think badly of her. That is sin enough. But you are my friend and you have been tricked also. Let me find what I need to prove to both of you that this was  trick.”

  


Jon shook his head. “I know what I saw.”

  


“Tell me again what you saw.”

  


He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I left my room—“

  


“But your guards weren’t there?”

  


“No. I thought since she had left it was just... I figured I didn’t need them to monitor me since I was free to move around the castle since she wasn’t there. Same with why I didn’t think not seeing you would be an issue. I figured you’d find me eventually. And since I was free to roam the castle, I went down a corridor I’ve never been and stopped when I saw Daario coming out of her room, retying his sword belt.” He sighed and shook his head. “I saw the sigil on the door, knew it was her room, but I had to know for sure. I walked in, found her in her bed, sleeping, naked.”

  


“And her guards were gone?”

  


He nodded. “Yes.”

  


Grey Worm shook his head. “Stay tonight. Let me talk to Missandei. I come back in morning.”

  


“So... I’m supposed to just… wait here?”

  


“Yes. If no Daario, would you love the queen?”

  


Jon heaved a sigh.  _ Yes, of course. I love her even now. That is why this hurts so much _ . He shook it off, feeling like he could not bring that truth to the light of day, not yet, not while he was still so unsure of his reality at that moment, so he simply stared.

  


Grey Worm nodded. “Then give me a day.”

  


Jon nodded after a moment. “You have it.”

  


*~*

  


Daenerys soared with Drogon over her Dothraki as the sun began to set. Her heart still ached despite the glorious view. She heaved a sigh and found a place to land and was immediately met by two Dothraki, who escorted her to her tent where Tyrion and Jorah waited for her. “Your Grace...” Tyrion stopped at seeing her face and immediately scowled. “What’s happened?”

  


“The king has broken his word. He walked into my room this morning while I was sleeping.”

  


Tyrion shared a look with Jorah. “Why would your guard permit that? They had explicit instructions...”

  


“I don’t know why! Nor do I care. He asked to be sent back to his brother and I agreed.”

  


“Your Grace, that is an alliance you need!”

  


“I need to trust the man who shares my bed, and I cannot any longer!”

  


Tyrion looked over his shoulder at Jorah. “Ser Jorah, give us a moment, won’t you?”

  


The older man stepped out of the tent and Tyrion poured a glass of wine and handed it to his clearly distraught queen. She drank all of it down immediately. “What happened?”

  


She shook her head. “We’d had a huge fight last night, over  _ Daario _ of all people. He thinks I’ve been sharing my bed with him.”

  


“If he suspected that, why didn’t you send Daario away?”

  


“He saved my life in King’s Landing, remember?” She didn’t feel like justifying her reasons to yet another person and let her frustration clearly show to her Hand. “And found me in Vaes Dothrak. Daario has been loyal to me since the day we met. I don’t always agree with him but I trust his counsel.”

  


“Yes, but Daario hasn’t exactly given up hope on having you again. He’s made that clear.”

  


“And I’ve made it clear that I don’t want him. Especially not after Jon.”  Tyrion filled up her goblet again and she sipped it more sedately that time. “I heard a gasp in my room and there he was. Hurt and anger written all over his face.” She hung her head, feeling the pain of it spreading throughout her chest. “When my guards came in, I had them take him to the throne room. I asked what I should do with him and he was so... insolent. No remorse for what he’d done. He accused me of being a liar. When I asked what I should do with him...” she paused, gathering her strength, the anger she felt in the moment dissipating, leaving her feeling lost and heartbroken once more. “...he requested to return to the North and his brother. I gave him what he wanted and I left for Highgarden.”

  


*~*

  


Tyrion listened to all of it, finding each piece more suspicious than the last. He heaved out a deep breath and swirled his wine in his goblet, able to see that something was afoot but unable to determine what. He  _ could  _ determine one thing, though. It all boiled down to one common denominator: Daario. 

  


“Your Grace, would you mind if I asked a few questions?”

  


Daenery cast a baleful look at him. “Yes, but when has that stopped you?”

  


Tyrion gave her a small smile. “Your fight... did you  _ stay _ with Jon?”

  


She shook her head. “No. I went back to my room.”

  


“What did you do once you arrived?”

  


“I called for Missandei and she spent the night with me until I fell asleep.”

  


“Did you hear her leave?”

  


“No,” she said softly. 

  


Tyrion rolled that revelation around. She had spent the night with Missandei. The queen’s most trusted friend.

  


“You said your guards eventually came in and removed your husband, but where were  _ his _ guards? Even they would know to keep him out of your room.”

  


She looked up at him at that, a slight tilt to her head. “I don’t know.”

  


Tyrion sipped at his wine and looked at her quizzically. “It appears to me that this might have been a setup. Jon suspects you, for some reason, though I have my own suspicions about that, and then he did the one thing that he promised he wouldn’t do. The honorable Jon Snow broke his word.” He shook his head, troubled. “I think... we should take care of Highgarden and  _ then _ settle matters with your husband.”

  


Daenerys looked at the ground. “And what if  _ he _ considers them settled? That he can’t trust me?”

  


“Then he’s a fool. But I believe there is more at play than any of us know. Will you allow me to correspond with Dragonstone to get to the bottom of it?”

  


She drank down the rest of her wine and nodded. “Yes.”

  


Tyrion put a comforting hand on hers. “I have a feeling we will right all of this, Your Grace.”

  


*~*

  


Grey Worm found Missandei in the war room. He took a steadying breath before he approached. She looked over her shoulder at him and frowned. “He’s gone?”

  


“He got on the boat.”

  


She shook her head, her face pained. “Why would he do this?”

  


“I think... he was tricked.”

  


She turned to face him fully. “What do you mean?”

  


“I mean... was her guard there when you left?”

  


“Yes, but then Daario came to us and said there was a disturbance in the castle that evening and they hadn’t yet found the culprit. He ordered the guard to escort me back to my room and he would guard the queen.” Grey Worm felt a great hatred growing deep in his belly. “But when I arrived at my room, Jon’s guard was standing outside my door. They seemed surprised to see me.”

  


“Did they explain why they were there?”

  


She shook her head. “No. Only that they had been told of the disturbance and sent there upon orders to protect me. They thought I was inside.”

  


He stepped closer to her, his voice soft. “You saw Daario outside her room?”

  


Missandei nodded slowly, seeming to grasp where he was going with this. “You came to me just after I sent her guards back...”

  


“All this happened in such a short time,” he said as he looked out at the water. “Be honest with me, please. Has our Queen been with Daario since we left Essos?”

  


She shook her head furiously. “How dare you ask that!”

  


“It’s what he was telling her king,” he whispered. “Jon say that he came down the hall and saw Daario leaving her room. Tying his sword belt.”

  


Her brows knit together. “She was asleep when I left her. Spent most of the night upset with Jon for not trusting her. She cried before she left for Highgarden. She loves him and he broke his promise! I do not think she would have been so upset if she had Daario in her bed.”

  


Grey Worm turned his back to the ocean and faced the open room. “Daario deceived the king,” he said lowly. “Tricked him.”

  


“Jon still looked,” Missandei reminded him.

  


Grey Worm folded his arms over his chest and stared at the floor. “I would have looked,” he replied. “If I saw a man come out of your room, one who told me he had been with you every morning when you left me... I would have looked.”

  


She took one of his hands in both her own. “You wouldn’t have believed me?”

  


He looked at her and felt a harsh pain in his chest at the thought. “I would want to, Missandei. I would want to more than anything. But I will always worry that I am not enough for you. That you can do better. Have more.” He felt her fingers tighten on his. “I would hate the part of myself that would need to look because I... I love you. But if I saw what  _ he _ saw... I would look.”

  


A knock on the door broke them apart and Missandei bid them enter. It was a chambermaid. Wylla, he thought her name was. What was she doing here? She bowed to both of them and closed the door behind her. 

  


“My lady,” she started slowly, her voice soft. “I must speak with you about this morning. About the queen and king.”

  


Missandei nodded her permission and the maid began her story. Grey Worm grew angrier as she spun her tale. When she had finished, he told her and Missandei to keep the information between themselves. He would handle it. He left the room and immediately made his way to the beach.

  


He was stopped by the maester with a raven from Winterfell for Jon. Determination carried him swiftly through the castle and down the winding stairs.

  


*~*

  


Jon drove the pickaxe again and again into the wall of the cave, allowing dragonglass to spill to the ground. He hauled the shards into the wheeled cart beside him, feeling that he had to do  _ something _ to keep his mind occupied. 

  


He looked up as he heard someone clear his throat, and watched as Grey Worm approached him quickly. “When the Queen returns you will apologize for your behavior, but after the traitor is dealt with.”

  


Jon straightened at the assertive words of the soldier. “Explain.”

  


“Daario made you see what he wanted you to see. He sent your guards to Missandei’s empty room. He had the queen’s guards leave with Missandei at daybreak to walk her to her room, say a disturbance in the castle. There was none. A chambermaid saw him watch your room for you to come out and when you started coming his way, he slipped into the Queen’s room and waited for you.” 

  


Jon felt his words hit his gut like the pickaxe he’d been swinging. “You… you’re certain?”

  


Grey Worm nodded. “The queen chose you.”

  


Jon put his head in his hands, feeling bile rise in his throat. “Why... why is he... where is he?”

  


Grey Worm crouched in front of him and held up a scroll. “This for you. After you read, you and I will hunt Daario down and deal with him.”

  


Jon took the scroll and read over it, his breath catching in his throat.

  


_ Jon, _

  


_ Bran has returned. He has been beyond the Wall for years. He has visions. It is difficult to explain. He has seen the army of the dead marching to Eastwatch By The Sea. He said they will be there in less than a month. I have called all the Northron banners to meet me. We could use the help of your queen and her armies. I could use you by my side. _

  


_ Arya has also returned home and has insisted that she come to Eastwatch. She’s threatened to poke me with the pointy end if I refuse. She longs to see you under better circumstances but she will fight with us. Please come. _

  


_ Robb Stark _

  


Jon propped his arms on his knees and hung his head.  _ Love is the death of duty _ . He looked up at the soldier. “I’ll help you round up Daario, but I must leave for Eastwatch tonight.”

  


Grey Worm frowned. “The tide is coming soon. You need to be with it,” he answered. “You go. Help your brother. I will throw Daario in the cells for you.”

  


*~*

  


Tyrion read over the scroll from Missandei, a deep scowl on his face. His raven to Dragonstone had been full of questions that the counselor had answered with heinous details that were sure to upset the queen. 

  


‘Upset’ was probably the wrong word. He wondered if he could keep her from flying to Dragonstone and roasting Daario alive. He found her in her tent, staring at a map. He watched her for a moment as he realized she was holding one of the wolves that represented the Starks and placed it on Winterfell with its counterparts. 

  


He cleared his throat and she turned to him. Jorah joined him, Tyrion having summoned the man once he’d read the scroll, feeling they both needed to know. “What is it?” Daenerys asked.

  


“Shall I read it aloud?”

  


She nodded and he unrolled the parchment. 

  


*~*

  


Daenerys snatched the scroll from him, her ire rising the more he read. “ _ The King then entered the Queen’s room and the guards arrived a few moments later to escort him out. The chambermaid was sent to attend to another room before any of this could be told _ ,” she continued aloud for herself.

  


She leaned heavily against the table, needing it to hold her up as the true duplicitous nature of her captain had been revealed. She wanted to have Drogon eat him slowly. She had argued with Jon about being able to trust Daario and he had betrayed her so fully for his own selfish whims. She was wrong to have allowed him to come with her and stay. She knew that, now. No wonder Jon took such issue with him. How could she have been such a fool? 

  


She continued reading. “ _G_ _ rey Worm intercepted a letter from Robb Stark to King Jon that said the army of the dead was marching to East Watch and would be there in a month’s time. He has called his banners to help fight. Jon has left for Eastwatch and Grey Worm has thrown Daario into the cells to be dealt with upon your return. _ ”

  


They were still a week away from Highgarden. She could be there in less than a day on her dragons. “Change of plans,” she said softly. “You two will ride to Eastwatch with the Dothraki.”

  


“What of Highgarden?” Tyrion asked loudly.

  


“I will take my dragons and threaten to burn the keep to the ground and allow Lord Willas’ army to sack it once they run out screaming, which they will.” She looked up at Tyrion, her fists clenched upon the table. “Send a raven to Dragonstone. Have the Unsullied sail to Eastwatch. I will come to aid the North  _ after _ I have taken back Lady Olenna’s castle for her grandson.”

  


Tyrion nodded, though he looked aggrieved. “When do you want us to leave?”

  


“Tonight. Send word to Dragonstone to ship the dragonglass weapons we have North as well as the blacksmiths so they may continue their work. There need to be shipments of dragonglass sailing North every day,” she declared. “The mines need to be fully operational at once.”

  


“And what of the traitor?” Jorah asked.

  


“I’ll have my husband deal with him upon our return. Go, round up the Dothraki. I will fly ahead on Drogon tonight.”

  


“Yes, Your Grace.”

**Author's Note:**

> I chose Passion as the real prompt for this because there are many different types in this story:  
> Passion for your country  
> Passion for your home or finding home  
> Passion for protecting your people  
> Passion for your monarch  
> Passion between two people
> 
> I think you'll find all of those here...


End file.
